La Cerise: The Sweetest Cherry
by RZZMG
Summary: Draco Malfoy visits a Masked Gentlemen's Club and meets a new courtesan making her debut - a beauty known only as The Princess. She's up for auction to the highest bidder, and Draco's determined to win her! Regency Era A/U. Draco x Hermione/Dramione. Story nominated and multiple wins at the HP Fanfic Fan Poll Awards-see profile for details. COMPLETE.
1. Ch 1: Le Belle Femme

**AUTHOR'S NOTES:**

**This story is a FIC CHALLENGE! This was LADY SERPENTINA's required criteria:**

_1. A possessive Draco Malfoy.  
2. A-U fic with magic set in England during the 1800's (Regency or Victorian era)  
3. Draco Malfoy would be the typical member of the peerage - rich, handsome, and a womanizer  
4. Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy would be dead  
5. No info. on Hermione Granger's background, and she works off some "mysterious debt" in a Gentleman's Prostitution Establishment  
6. Ginny/Blaise as a second pair. Blaise is Draco's best friend & they go to the whorehouse together, where Ginny works, too.  
7. Ron and Astoria to be a part of this fic. Ron is one of the bodyguards or a handyman around the whorehouse where Hermione works. Astoria would be another woman working there who Draco usually visits.  
8. Mature rating with graphic scenes. One with at least Astoria and Draco and another scene with Dramione having nonconsensual sex. The rest Hermione has to be willing.  
9. Will include jealousy and a cat fight between Hermione & Astoria.  
10. Happy ending for Dramione. _

**P****lease review and let me know your thoughts!**

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**STORY DETAILS: **A Draco Malfoy x Hermione Granger story. Alternate Realty entirely - Regency Era England. Characters are OCC due to nature of the fic challenge (out of character). _**THIS IS A ROMANTIC/DRAMA/ANGST/MYSTERY STORY. **_

**TIMELINE: **Begins Summer 1815

**SUMMARY: **Draco Malfoy visits a Masked Gentlemen's Club in Diagon Alley called _La Cerise_ (French for "The Cherry"), and meets a new courtesan making her debut - a beauty known only as 'The Princess.' She and her virginity are up for auction to the highest bidder, and Draco's determined to win her! However, _La Cerise's_ mysterious owner, an embittered, tossed-over mistress, and a bastard member of the family are all determined to destroy young Malfoy's dreams from behind the scenes. Will ancient magic save the love he is destined to make his own – and how will it affect others in the House?

**RATING: NC-17/M+ rating **(including _explicit_ consensual and nonconsensual sex, profanity, violence, use of alcohol, gambling)

**IMAGES TO GO ALONG WITH THE FIC **(remove all spaces from the URL to make it load properly):** http:/ / s905 . photobucket . com / albums / ac260 / RZZMG / La%20Cerise-The%20Sweetest%20Cherry/**

**MUSIC VIDEO TO GO ALONG WITH THE FIC **(remove all spaces from the URL to make it load properly):** http:/ / www . youtube . com / watch?v=HjLcdUFT0yk**

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_**LA CERISE: THE SWEETEST CHERRY**_

_**By: RZZMG**_

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_**CHAPTER ONE: LA**__** BELLE FEMME**_

_**Diagon Alley - London, England **_

_**June 2, 1815 (Friday night)**_

When she walked down the grand staircase in the main parlor, practically every man turned and held his breath. Even Draco couldn't seem to stop his heart from pounding like mad beneath his trim, light woolen greatcoat. He had just been adjusting the infernal mask he'd been forced to wear by the House Madam when the sight before him arrested his action in place.

"Merlin, what a beauty!" Blaise murmured under his breath in his deep vibrato. "Look at that hair!"

Long, curly, warm walnut-colored tresses were pinned up on the sides, but left free to fall to the petite woman's mid-back. Following French fashion, she wore a high-waist dress made of a dark green dyed _crêpe de Chine_, the accenting silken, silver ribbon catching just under her breasts, pushing the delicious mounds up, allowing for a nice show of cleavage. However, the fall and flow of the material was definitely Ancient Greek in flavor, hailing back a dozen years in the fashion trends, with light silver embroidery in the classical influence adorning the garment's hems. Across her left shoulder lay a matching shawl, which she fingered nervously with petite, well manicured hands. Her jewelry was tasteful and minimal – an arm band made of silver twining like a serpent about her upper left bicep, a silver rope necklace with a green gem-like pendant, matching green earrings. Her mask was tantalizing, revealing just enough to give an idea as to the perfection of her facial features; made of soft, black silk and cut in a wide butterfly pattern, it lay flat against her face and was tied back with silken black ribbon, allowing spaces for full disclosure of her dark cinnamon eyes, her pert nose and her pretty pinked mouth. As she stepped down the stairs, he caught the peek-a-boo of silver slippers on her feet.

She was the most stunning creature he'd ever laid eyes on. And she looked as terrified as a young gazelle facing a pack of hungry, calculating hyenas.

He wondered what her alias would be… Every client to visit _La Cerise_, the most famous, genteel Gentlemen's Club in all of Europe, and every Courtesan who worked there was given a nickname that they would use for the life of their stay – as well as a mask. Both were to maintain privacy and to prevent embarrassing situations outside the walls of the establishment. It was absolutely forbidden to remove the mask or to speak your real name while in the house. The consequence was permanent banishment. This new lovely looked like a Greek goddess. Perhaps her name would reflect such origins?

"You match rather well," Blaise joked, poking him in the ribs with an elbow and jolting him out of his private musings.

Draco frowned, turning his attention to his friend just as the House Madam approached and took the young woman's hand, assuring she would be well chaperoned for this, her debut moment at _La Cerise_. "What?" His mind had taken a holiday, apparently, if he couldn't keep up with something Blaise had said.

His friend pointed and smirked at his outfit. "I said you match the new girl nicely," he reiterated. "You've got the Slytherin color schema in common. It's a good start. Why don't you ask for an introduction?"

Draco scowled. He had enough women troubles with "Aster." The last thing he needed was a cat fight and to be asked to leave this place permanently; his little, blonde _dame de choix_ was the jealous type, he well knew. "Have you forgotten I'm already occupied with a lady?" he pointed out somewhat bitterly.

Blaise chuckled and stepped closer, speaking low enough for only the two of them to hear. "You don't care for your blonde wench one bit, and you know it. She's only after a marriage proposal from you so she can get her greedy claws on your money anyway." He put a well-meaning hand on Draco's shoulder, meeting him in the eye solemnly. "Heed me well, brother, and don't allow Aster to get her hooks sunk in too deep. This is your chance to possibly be rid of her once and for all... and to try something unique, too - just what you've been whinging on about now for weeks. This one's different from your usual fare." He looked around Draco's platinum head and raised an eyebrow in concern. "And my, oh, my… the wolves are circling already. At least go be introduced. Where's the harm in that? Well, before you lose the chance to Flint, McLaggen, Thomas, Stretton… and is that Nott?"

Hesitating only for a moment, and scanning the room quickly – Aster had not yet come down, as he had not sent for her – Draco turned about, straightened his coat and rechecked the security of his mask, and then stepped in the direction of the new prospect. Perhaps Blaise was right this once.

**X~~~~~X**

Hermione was terrified, even with Aurora at her side keeping these strangers at bay. They all seemed too overly eager in her estimation. Was she really that novel, or were these men really that bored?

Some, like the tall, burly fellow with the strapping shoulders and the curly, straw-blond hair who'd introduced himself as "The Prince," had remarked how they were meant to be together because their aliases matched (once she'd introduced herself under her pre-arranged pseudonym, "The Princess"). Such a strong opening line - coupled with his strange, ornate mask (a red and gold glittery thing with high wings set like flames jutting upwards and outwards on all sides) - unnerved her somewhat and made her weary of the man.

Then there was the short, dark haired man wearing a plain white mask across his eyes only who called himself "The Etruscan," but whom she'd heard The Prince openly refer to as Flint. He'd been only a little less aggressive than the blond. In fact, it seemed as if the two had some sort of pre-existing rivalry that was spilling over onto their interest in her. Their magical auras crackled with antagonism, and she'd shied away from both this man and The Prince, preferring to speak to the rest of her potential suitors instead.

The tall, thin, raven-haired man with the long eyelashes and strong jaw seemed somewhat shy and bookish, like her. He went by the nickname "Knot," and she supposed it might have something to do with the leather cord that held his long, straight hair back from his nape in a neat ponytail. His half mask was black with cris-crossing gold lines that intersected all across, giving him a gothic feel. This one was amicable and rather well versed on the theories of Transfiguration, she'd discovered after only a few minutes talking with him, and she discovered quickly that her initial impression was good, so she squeezed Aurora's hand to let her know that this one she would want to learn more about later.

The thin, light brown-skinned young man to Knot's left went by the moniker "The Lawyer," and his mask was a simple dark orange piece of leather tied tightly about his head, leaving spaces for his eyes and mouth only. He was friendly and seemed to enjoy talking about Charms, a magic she enjoyed practicing. They got on well for the ten or so minutes they'd chatted, and so she gave another squeeze to Sinistra.

The man dubbed "Jer" had the most intense green eyes Hermione had ever fallen into. They were absolutely beautiful, like spring grass with little yellow motes floating around inside. He didn't say much, mostly listened, but his mysterious air and impeccable manners interested her. His mask was dark blue, purple, gold and bronze iridescent, and cut in a bird-like shape, complete with beak. She indicated to her guardian that this man made the cut as well.

There were others – "Boot" with his flamboyantly carnival-colored mask was a sweet tempered man (if not a little too effete), "Finchy" (who wore a velvet yellow mask that had decorative red corded edging on it) was open and gay (if not a little too talkative for her tastes), and a very tall, dark mocha skinned man wearing a plain black mask across his eyes and calling himself "The Italian" was extremely engaging (sadly, he'd made it clear that he wasn't interested, as he was already sworn to another in the house; he'd simply come over to introduce himself. She thought this a shame, as she'd rather have liked to know this one better).

As she stood, forced to listen to Finchy drone on about Quidditch (a subject she wasn't particularly overzealous about), her mind wandered, inwardly musing.

She couldn't believe she'd actually done it – two months ago she'd run to _La Cerise_ to escape her familial obligations, and tonight was finally her official debut! She wondered if her fiancée would be proud of the attention she'd attracted so far from possible suitors.

Being betrothed to Harry James Potter should have been any girl's dream. He was a well-considered wizard of great talent, a kind soul with smashing looks, a famous Seeker during his school years (leading his team to victory four times), a Captain in the Auror program, and his inheritance would be quite sizable when he came into it at age 21. He'd been her neighbor and childhood playmate up until they'd split at the age of eleven to go to different wizarding schools (he to Hogwarts, she to Beauxbatons Academy, per her parent's request after they'd discovered all about the wizarding world from the Potters). They'd remained friends throughout the years, sending notes by owl to each other to keep up on their lives and spending school breaks together. They'd even attended each other's graduation ceremonies. They worked now in the same department in the Ministry – Magical Law Enforcement (she was a law librarian who catalogued and kept the records straight, he an upholder of said law). It seemed a very smart match by all counts.

The problem was that Harry was very much in love with Miss Luna Lovegood, the pretty, blonde debutante that Hermione had gone to school with. Also, Hermione did not bear any sort of romantic feelings for Harry in any way. Neither of them wanted the other.

The arranged marriage contract had been drawn up when Hermione and Harry were only children - aged twelve, and away at school. According to the terms, neither set of parents were allowed to divulge the contents of the engagement until Hermione's 21st birthday, which had finally come last September (she was almost eleven months older than Harry, and of the two, she would be the first to reach Wizarding legal adulthood). When the duplicity was at last revealed, she had begged her parents to break the engagement, but they were helplessly bound by the magical contract they'd signed as her guardians and could not undo it under pain of death, as it acted as the magical equivalent of an Unbreakable Vow. Neither could the Potters help, as she and Harry had discovered, as no clause was made to this extent in the original contract. Besides, Lily and James Potter made no bones about the fact that they _really_ wanted Hermione as their daughter-in-law, so even if they could annul the contract, they most likely wouldn't do so. They'd come to see her as their son's perfect match.

The terms of the contract stipulated the marriage to take place before or on July 31st, 1815 - Harry's twenty-first birthday - and it was a permanent binding. There would be no divorce, no setting aside or even cheating allowed. The terms were quite specific in this matter. Literally, it was 'till death did they part.

Despondent, but refusing to give up, she and Harry had unanimously turned to the law library where she worked for guidance. After nearly six months of searching, they had succeeded in finding an obscure legal loophole that they could exploit to get out of the bond: as the woman being "sold off" to the man in the contract, all Hermione had to do was exceed the funds the Potters had collected as her dowry by a single galleon and she could buy herself out of the contract, effectively cancelling it for all involved parties. The problem was, she had to make the money herself; it could not be gifted to her, especially by anyone involved in the initial agreement. That meant Harry could not offer her any help, nor could her parents, or the Potters. None of her friends had the kind of money it would require – 100,001 galleons – to satisfy the debt. She couldn't take out a loan at Gringotts either, because of the way the law was written. She clearly had to earn the money herself to buy her "debt" off.

Just when things had seemed hopeless, she'd heard of _La Cerise_ and the auctioning off of a woman's virginity, which could net 200,000 or more galleons in one fell swoop, depending upon the betting (the highest amount paid in history had been a whopping 450,000 galleons paid out just thirty-years before for a woman who had insisted upon anonymity in the official records). The tradition was an old one, harkening back to the days of the Greek city-states, and it had always been seen as honorable in the Wizarding world to apprentice oneself to a courtesan. No shame was attached to the woman who wanted to empower herself by learning from a place like _La Cerise_, and she was assured a good financial start in life doing so, since the auctioned woman kept half the amount of the final bid (the other half going to the house). From Hermione's way of thinking, overall this plan seemed the most logical trade off to get out of a loveless marriage and to allow her best friend the happiness he so desperately wanted with Miss Lovegood. Unfortunately, it also meant giving her body away, but she reasoned that one night's physical pain and a little personal shame would be worth a lifetime's freedom for her and Harry. She loved her best friend and wanted his happiness, and she _desperately _wanted her own sovereignty back. She had plans for her life!

Harry had tried to talk her out of the idea, of course, calling it utter madness and degrading, but Hermione had insisted that this would solve their problems quickly, as time was fast running out. Quite frankly, they had no other options. It took her two weeks of constantly hounding him and showing him facts and figures, and reminding him that Luna would be fair game to any eligible suitors should he end up marrying her, before he eventually agreed. It didn't stop him from crying on her shoulder and begging her forgiveness for what he and his parents were responsible for doing to her, however, but at least he had finally come around to common sense, by Hermione's way of thinking (ironically, she still hadn't forgiven her own parents for their meddling, despite their claims of good intentions; that would take much more than a few hugs and some tears, she'd decided).

The very next morning, she and Harry had side-along apparated together to Aurora Sinistra with their proposal, and the House Madam had taken it upon herself to spend the next two months coaching and educating Hermione on the fine arts of flirting and seduction, fashion and beauty, etiquette and public speaking, singing and dance (all of the skills she hadn't learned at school, preferring to sign up for classes like Ancient Runes and Advanced Potions instead).

Now, tonight, all her training was being put to the test, and so far, the response had been positive.

**X~~~~~X**

As he neared, Draco caught the lovely, new woman's voice raised in tinkling laughter and things in his guts clenched tight. He circled around the group of males closing in for the kill, and came up behind instead, placing a hand on the House Madam's arm, knowing this was the proper way into the situation. "_Madame_ Sinistra, you look ravishing tonight, as usual," he flirted outrageously, pasting on the charm thickly.

Aurora turned to him and smiled wickedly, obviously recognizing his voice, her rouged lips twisting up in knowing. "And you look exceptionally scrumptious tonight, _Monsieur_ Dragon." The French expatriate, who had lived in Britain now for the better part of a decade and who's accent had been worked so that it was hardly noticeable any longer, looked him up and down carefully, taking in his impeccable dress and demeanor. "Well, well, it seems we have a theme coordinating tonight with color!" She broke her newest charge off of a discussion with Theodore Nott and turned the girl in his direction. "Might I introduce you to _La Princesse_?" she initiated, turning her head slightly at the beauty to her side. "Princess, this is _Monsieur_ Dragon."

The dark haired beauty extended her hand, palm down, with some measure of wary politeness and smiled hesitantly, and Draco took it in his gently. When their fingers brushed, they both reacted with small gasps, their magic jumping between them, sparking, igniting.

This was the first time such a thing had ever happened to Draco, and for a second, he lost his composure, staring at the ravishing beauty before him with nothing less than blatant surprise. The Princess equally stared back at him, a glimmer of fear creeping into her eyes. She tugged once to try to remove her hand from his, but as she did, his manners returned full force. Gripping her to keep her from withdrawing, he bent over her knuckles and placed a reverent kiss upon them, then straightened. "It is a manifest pleasure, my lady," he managed to save the moment and keep them both from looking the fool.

The Princess seemed to recover at the same moment. "The satisfaction is mine, _Monsieur_ Dragon."

He lingered for a moment longer than propriety allowed, and then released her hand, executing a more formal bow at the waist.

Sinistra looked between her charge and Draco, her hazel gaze measuring carefully, he noted. "Perhaps we could arrange for a more private audience for the two of you, chaperoned by me, of course. That is, if you'd like, _Monsieur_."

He traded a look with the House Madam, knowing that she implied nothing more than an acquaintance tea for starters – and understanding the ultimate cost involved should he continue to pursue The Princess. There would be no opportunity to bed this woman tonight, which meant Aurora intended on auctioning off this beauty at her side. This debut was nothing more than an opportunity to give the bachelors in the house the chance to meet The Princess one-on-one to decide her worth. So, in the end, it would come down to a question of galleons versus want - both of which he had plenty of to spare when it came to this Greecian lovely before him.

Without a second thought, Draco nodded his acceptance. "I would paramount enjoy the opportunity."

"Tonight then," Sinistra invited. "Come to my private drawing room on the third floor, one o'clock." She started to turn herself and the Princess back to the circle of men, who were now jealousy looking at him, anger in their gazes. "Don't be late, _Monsieur_." It was a polite dismissal-warning, and he knew that if he did not show up exactly on time, Aurora would reject him from the bidding later. He nodded in acceptance of the terms and made his way back over to Blaise, calming his racing heart with mental discipline.

His friend took one look at Draco's smirk and grinned brightly. "You're in," he guessed - not a question, but a statement.

Draco nodded. "For the first meeting," he confirmed. "I believe she's to be auctioned."

Blaise's eyebrows shot up. He looked over Drake's shoulder. "You're going to have fierce competition. McLaggen's got more money than you, and Nott might be a close second. Both are evenly titled, practically."

Draco's mind whirled through the possibilities in seconds, coming up with several workable solutions. "Then I'll have to make sure she turns them away before the bidding starts, won't I?"

**X~~~~~X**

Hermione's heart was pounding, and her mouth was suddenly dry. She accepted the offer of a drink from Knot, who smoothly walked off to get her some water. In that time, she barely heard a word any of the other men spoke to her. Instead, her mind was focused only on the memories of a cool, pale, strong hand, and a pair of wintery, smoldering grey eyes, and the feeling of electrifying magic igniting her all the way from her heart to her core. Her thin undergarments were suddenly rather damp, and she blushed over the knowledge that the man called The Dragon could arouse her with a simple touch.

If only she could see his face! That blasted mask (a beautiful black thing with silver eyelets and a single, trailing silver teardrop down the left cheek) had covered half of his face.

"Here, my lady," Knot offered her a glass of refreshing water, looking at her with mild concern through the slits his own mask favored. "Do you grow faint? Your cheeks are flushed."

Sipping at the water, Hermione took her fill and then handed him the glass back, fanning herself as soon as her fingers were free. "It is the excitement of meeting you all," she lied, recovering quickly, remembering her training. "It _is_ my debut, after all."

Knot's piercing eyes were mulling her over as he clearly deliberated how best to respond. "Certainly, that must be the reason," he smoothly replied in agreement, although his tone spoke a different language all together; doubt mixed with uncertainty. For a few seconds, Hermione felt skewered under that knowing gaze, and then she was swept up into a new conversation by something Boot had said.

**X~~~~~X**

Draco hovered near his lovely all the rest of the night, refusing to call for Aster, listening in on The Princess' conversations. How easily the woman fell into intense discussions about politics and magical theory one minute, then fashion and Muggle theatre the next. Over the course of three hours, Draco was more than intrigued with the witch who was highly educated, well-spoken and culturally sophisticated. Was she equally as powerful with a wand, he wondered? If the aura he'd accidentally touched earlier was any indication… His fingers still tingled with the residual magic they'd shared.

"She's quite a woman," his best friend remarked, having spent some time earlier engaging his lovely in a discussion of Arithmatical formulas for deriving future predictors in weather cycles. "Bloody brilliant, actually," he complimented. "I think she helped me figure out a way to protect my money better when investing in commodity crops," he grinned cheekily.

Inside Draco's chest, he felt his heart skip a beat. "I _want _her," he growled possessively, his eyes glued to her emerald-clad form while his mind contemplated how to make the fantasy idea a reality.

Blaise was quiet a moment. "And Aster?"

There wasn't a moment's hesitation; Draco shook his head negatively, speaking volumes without words.

"When will you tell her?" his friend politely inquired. Blaise was nothing if not a gentleman about women's feelings - even those he couldn't tolerate, like Aster.

Pale, grey eyes wandered to Aurora hovering protectively over her ward, like a fierce dog keeping burglars at bay. "As soon as Sinistra accepts me as a bidder."

"Do you even care to know this girl's lineage?" his former housemate asked, nudging his chin in The Princess' direction. "What if she's only Half-Blood?"

Everyone knew that _La Cerise_ only catered to pureblood families, so it couldn't be possible that his lovely Princess was anything but of the best stock. He reminded Blaise of this fact. "Besides, she's too beautiful not to be pureblood. Look at that bone structure." He made up his mind right there and then, lacking any proof other than the feeling warming his heart. "No, she's pureblood through and through. She _has_ to be."

Neither said another word for long minutes, and then "_Le Renard Rouge"_ came down the stairs to greet her beau, and Blaise was swept away in the beautiful red-head's arms and led up the stairs to her chambers where they could be alone, waving a final good luck to Draco.

At just before the ten o'clock hour, he watched as Sinistra led the Princess away, back up the stairs. At her side walked Theodore Nott. Obviously, the man's title – the son of a German Margrave - made him an attractive first candidate. Draco bit back his envy and spent the next three hours biding his time, considering what he would say to his pretty bird in green, watching as one man after another took his turn up the stairs to stay for the designated forty-five minutes. After Nott, there was Dean Thomas, and then Jeremy Stretton.

At quarter till one, he took his own walk up the grand staircase, feeling the eyes of every remaining man on his back, knowing he was going to have to make an outstanding impression if he wanted to be invited to return for a second tea later in the week so he could beat out the competition.

**X~~~~~X**

Stretton passed him in the hallway and gave him a tilt of the head in polite greeting. Draco returned it and stepped past without a backwards glance, reminding himself to appear reserved. When he knocked on the door precisely at one o'clock in the morning – still playtime for The Wizard's Ton, who often remained awake until the wee hours of the morning during weekend excursions - he was told to come in.

He'd only been in Aurora's drawing room once, when he'd first been a candidate for acceptance into _La Cerise_. Every male client was screened carefully for appropriateness before invitation, and a personal interview with the House Madam was required before entry would be granted. He'd been found suitable to mingle by Aurora within half an hour of their first handclasp, and after their meeting had adjourned, he'd been encouraged to take his pleasures as he saw fit from then on, so long as he obeyed the rules of the house. It had been two years since that initial conference, and he'd finally narrowed down his interest to Aster just a few months back. The petite blonde had been the most appropriate candidate for a wife of the available lot, even though he hadn't felt a spark for her.

He hadn't really been interested in any long-term fling with any woman here, honestly - that was, until tonight.

Taking a seat across from The Princess and the House Madam, he crossed his legs and sat back, determined not to be wound up for this initial meeting. He wanted there to be an air of comfort, if possible, as he was sure that by now, after three suitors, his lovely was probably at her whit's end. "Hello again," he broke with tradition and spoke with The Princess directly. "Survived the tsunami of suitors intact, I see."

Her perfect lips twitched in amusement. "Barely keeping my head above water, truth be told," she bantered back, and he found he was pleased with her sharp wit.

"Good thing," he teased, flowing along with the conversation, interested to see how far she would take the innuendo before offense was given. "It's too pretty a head to lose to the… _squalid_… seas you've encountered thus far."

Now her smile was dazzling. "Do you offer me safer shores and calmer waves, then, _Monsieur_?"

He snickered, loving her willingness to play along. "Hardly calm, but certainly safe. And the temperature's nice, too."

"Warm and tropical?" she inquired, looking at her nails as if she were disinterested, but her whole demeanor said otherwise.

If that wasn't a sexually charged opening, he didn't know what it could be classified. He decided to lay his cards down and see where it took them. "Definitely," he agreed, lowering his voice into seductive, honeyed tones. "Sometimes hot and steamy, too. Depends upon what you want."

She dropped her hand back into her lap and looked him dead in the eye, a sultry gleam reflecting outwardly. "Are you always so accommodating, my lord?"

He leaned forward slightly and tilted his head. "I can be." His eyes dipped intentionally to her lips. "For the right price."

She laughed then, and it was a beautiful sound that captured his heart once more. "I think that is my line, _Monsieur_." She turned to Aurora and nodded. "I think I will keep him. He is fun," she teased, throwing him a mischievous smile.

Draco stood, knowing he'd passed this round, and in record time, it seemed. He crossed over to her, again breaking tradition, and knelt down, making sure their knees brushed against each other "accidentally." He took her small hand in his boldly, feeling that spark between their magic flare once more. His cock tightened in his pants, and he thanked heaven that he wasn't wearing a cutaway style coat, but one that could fall across his crotch and hide his straining erection from this woman's delicate eyes. "We've only just begun having fun, Princess," he promised, bending his head and dragging his lips lightly over her fingers, taking liberties that he knew would astound her before actually landing his kiss on the back of her soft skin. In a quick move, he stood and wrapped his dark green coat about him, letting it cover his front completely. "When shall I have the honor of sparring with you again, my lovely?"

"Come back next Friday night at eleven o'clock in the eve," Aurora told him, her face showing her pleasure with this introduction. "Bring a suitable gift to show your intentions."

He bowed to both women deeply. "Until then, ladies." He started out, but stopped at the door. "Oh, and Princess-" She turned about on the couch to his call, clearly interested to hear his parting shot. "Wear something green again for me next time," he suggested impishly. "It's my favorite color." He knew it was arrogant to assume she would do so – too bold even to ask it, but he wondered if she really would. If so, it would indicate her interest in him.

As expected, she raised an eyebrow at him and smirked. "Perhaps I will wear red instead, just to spite you."

"Hmmm, green _and_ red? You would look like a Yule tree then," he joked.

She shook her head in part amusement, part exasperation, he could tell from her grin. "You will learn that I do not take orders well from men, _Monsieur_ Dragon, and you most certainly do not own me."

He chuckled darkly. "Not yet, my lovely, but I will." With that promise made, he slipped out of the room, quietly shutting the door behind him.

**X~~~~~X**

After _Monsieur_ Dragon left, there was still forty-five minutes remaining until her next appointment. It would be with The Prince. She was dreading that meeting, especially after this last one.

"You must meet and encourage them all, to assure a good bidding war," Aurora reminded her.

Hermione sighed. "I know."

Her guardian stood and went to a dressing table, pulling out a make-up bag. "Fix your gloss and rouge," she advised. "And your mask is slipping. I will correct that for you when you finish."

Doing as she was instructed, Hermione reapplied her pinkish-red lip paint and cheek powder. As the House Madam was adjusting her mask, assuring it remained tight to her face, she smiled knowingly at her charge. "You liked him best, I can tell."

There was no need to ask who she was referring to.

"He was interesting," Hermione admitted. "But I really do not know anything about him other than the fact he flirts very provocatively and his mask is rather sad."

Sinistra chuckled. "You spark whenever you touch."

Hermione blinked and looked down at her hand. "Yes, what was that? It felt… warm. I-" Here she paused and blushed, but she and Aurora had discussed such bawdy and naughty things before. Why should this time be different? She forced herself to continue. "He caused my body to react, to prepare itself."

A delicate, dark eyebrow raised at that. "Did he? How did it feel exactly? Describe the moment."

Hermione closed her eyes and pulled up the memory. "Like being hit with a stunning spell, only… it was as if liquid fire poured through my middle, starting in my heart and continuing downwards into _la pêche_." She shuddered, opening her eyes, feeling her cheeks blooming with heat. "Truly, I have never felt such a thing before."

Sinistra was looking off at the wall, but her mind was obviously elsewhere, lost in a memory. "_Incroyable!_ It couldn't be-" she muttered to herself, but her words were not lost on Hermione.

"What do you know?" she asked of her teacher, suddenly suspicious.

With a wave of her hand in dismissal, Aurora shook her head. "It is no matter yet. We will see if I am right." She reached out and readjusted the mask over Hermione's face again, making sure it covered where it was meant to. "You must prepare yourself for your last four visits tonight. Then, you may seek your bed." When she was satisfied that the ribbon was tied securely around, she nodded. "Eight suitors in one night. You have done quite well, _oui_."

Hermione beamed. She'd never dreamed of so many men showing interest in her. She'd always believed herself to be rather plain and bookish, honestly. It had only been because of Aurora and her instruction that she had discovered the woman hidden deep inside.

"But that is not enough," the House Madam informed her. "Some will drop out as you grow to know each other better. I have seen this many times. It is best to encourage as many as possible. We will meet more men tomorrow night and Sunday night. Then, we must wait to see who returns next weekend."

They'd have to do this again? Hermione was already tired, having been up most of the afternoon and evening preparing for tonight. That she'd have to go through this two more times, meeting strange men, some of whom were obviously ill-suited. She dreaded the idea.

"The most famous woman to cross this house thirty years ago, she had ten bidders in the end, and that was after meeting more than two dozen to start," her educator explained.

Two dozen! Hermione's eyeballs almost fell out of her head.

* * *

_**TO BE CONTINUED...**_

_**

* * *

**_

**AUTHOR'S EXTENDED NOTES: **

**For the record, this fic takes place in England during the early 19th century (Regency Era, 1795-1837), but I have bent the cultural rules of those times for this Alternate Universe fic. Because our characters are living in WIZARDING England, not MUGGLE England, and the Wizarding world is much more liberal in its cultural norms according to our beloved authoress – J.K.R. - many things that wouldn't be possible in the Muggle world during this time period are quite possible in the Wizarding world during the same age (i.e. Blaise being a free man of high status, despite being a man of color). I've further decided that some things are the exact **_**opposite**_** of the Muggle world (for instance, I've made it clear in this story that high-class whorehouses are places of distinction, not shame, and that to work in one was seen as a rise in a woman's status, as it gave her real life 'skills' that she could take with her into marriage). This story takes place **_**BEFORE**_** the rather conservative Victorian Era's morales and morays take effect on the Wizarding & Muggle world alike, remember. Hopefully, I can pull this off trying to rearrange our beloved HP characters into this earlier time period, while keeping that sense of historical realism, and combining it with what JKR established for us with her books. This is the only way to give us all a happy Dramione ending, as the challenge requests.**

_**La Cerise**_** = French for "The Cherry."**

_**La Belle Femme**_** = French for "The Beautiful Woman."**

_**Crêpe de Chine**_** = French for "China Crepe," which is a type of silken fabric.**

_**Dame de choix **_**= French for "lady of choice."**

_**Madame **_**= French for "Madam/M'am."**

_**La Princesse **_**= French for "the Princess."**

_**Monsieur**_** = French for "Mister/Sir."**

_**Le Renard Rouge**_** = French for "the red fox."**

_**Mademoiselle**_** = French for "Young Miss."**

_**La pêche**_** = French for "the peach" (old slang term for a vagina).**


	2. Ch 2: The Mating Song

_**CHAPTER TWO: THE MATING SONG**_

_**Diagon Alley - London, England **_

_**June 9, 1815 (Friday night)**_

As soon as he'd returned home the previous Saturday morning, Draco owl'd off a note to his private investigator on retainer, wanting the man to trail the other suitors for The Princess' hand - discreetly, of course – so he could know more about his competition. By Sunday evening, he'd been told that he'd have to pay for three others, as the list was large. What he'd found out by Wednesday morning was disheartening: there were twenty-six potentials in all, the most any woman had ever netted for an auction in the history of _La Cerise_. In fact, it was the most known suitors for one woman's hand (or in this case, body) from any Gentleman's Club _anywhere_ in Europe, beating out the record holder of thirty-years previous, who had managed to acquire the interest of two dozen men initially.

Aside from himself, there was: Cormac McLaggen (son of a wealthy Earl who had an impressive pedigree, with ties to every major Pureblood family in Europe, a.k.a. "Prince"), Theodore Nott (son of a German Margrave, and a well-known patron and philanthropist to the Arts, a.k.a. "Knot"), Jeremy Stretton (son of a Baron and investor in the largest copper mine in the world, a.k.a. "Jer"), Terry Boot (director of three critically-acclaimed plays, a.k.a. "Boot" or "Bootsey"), Dean Thomas (a prominent Wizengamot lawyer, a.k.a. "Lawyer"), Marcus Flint (Chaser on Heidelberg Harriers Quidditch Team, a.k.a. "Etruscan"), Justin Finch-Fletchley (son of a Knighted Lord, a.k.a. "Finchy"), Seamus Finnegan (wealthy part-owner of the Ballycastle Bats, a.k.a. "Irish"), Nigel Wespurt (Political Ambassador for Britain in the International Confederation of Wizards, a.k.a. "Politico"), Michael Cormer (son of a Viscount and a Baroness, a.k.a. "Raven"), Ernie Macmillan (child prodigy, and Head of the Charms Department at Hogwarts, a.k.a. "Charmer"), Oliver Wood (Keeper-Captain of the Kenmare Kestrals Quidditch Team, a.k.a. "Scots"), Bill Weasley (a wealthy entrepreneur and world-renown Curse Breaker, a.k.a. "Wolf"), Maximus Brankovitch III (Seeker-Captain of the winning Fitchburg Finches Quidditch Team, a.k.a. "Maxsee"), Philip Cadwallader (world-famous inventor of the Volubilis Potion, a.k.a. "York"), Roger Davies (son of a Knighted Lord who owned merchant shipping vessels, a.k.a. "Brun"), Anthony Goldstein (a famous jeweler for the Muggle British Crown and an exporter of rare & precious gems, a.k.a. "Gold"), Malcolm Preece (current Editor-in-Chief of _The Daily Prophet's_ Sports Section, a.k.a. "Loc"), Graham Montague (a famous stage actor, a.k.a. "Shakespeare"), Kevin Whitby (author of seven bestselling comedy-adventure books, a.k.a. "Whit"), Adrian Pucey (Master Chef to the Muggle British royal family, a.k.a. "Chef"), Anthony Rickett (son of a Baron and lead violinist in the London Wizard's Symphony Orchestra, a.k.a. "Vivi"), Jason Swann (scholar and university professor of Greek classics, a.k.a. "Argonaut"), Evan Rosier Jr. (Chaser on the Ballycastle Bats Quidditch Team, a.k.a. "Four"), and Zacharias Smith (the only human investor to ever be allowed to join Gringotts Wizarding Bank's Board of Directors, a.k.a. "Accountant").

Needless to say, Draco was seriously worried. More than half the men on the list had the money to compete with him toe-to-toe come bidding. Worse, pretty much all of them could offer things to his lovely that might prove to be too enticing to turn her nose up at, such as adventure and fun, intelligent conversation and scholarly aptitude, political intrigue, musical or art appreciation, or financial comfort and security. It would come down to a matter of personality clashes before she'd turn any of them away, especially if she was looking to net a handsome profit from her auction.

The problem was the damned rules Sinistra had owl'd to every suitor this week, which made clear her expectations for this "competition." First there was to be no attempt made to meet up with The Princess outside of the confines of each suitor's allotted times. And the Abbess would personally be chaperoning each meeting - which meant Draco could not blatantly use his seductive charms on The Princess to try to woo her affections before the bidding. He'd been hoping to exchange kisses with her… if not a little more… to secure himself in her heart, but now that seemed impossible. Second, The Princess had requested complete anonymity before she was won, so there would be absolutely no private background investigation of her life tolerated - which meant Draco couldn't even attempt to find out her likes and dislikes so he could slant her interest in his direction and avoid conversational pitfalls. He'd have to coax from her hints about her life during their allotted appointment times instead. Third, there would be absolutely no magical cheating allowed of any kind – be it by spell, by item or by potion. And finally, and most important, Sinistra would tolerate no sabotage of suitors and their chances for consideration by The Princess - which meant Draco had to behave himself. Aurora threatened that if she so much as sniffed a hint of any rule breaking, she would reject the man from the bidding immediately, even if it were at the last second. Overall, the House Madam expected every gentleman to behave well towards each other and to The Princess, and for this to be a fair auction, reminding them all that any future opportunities with other candidates depended upon how the previous enterprise was conducted.

It was all very depressing news. If not for the one enticement the House Madam offered in her letter, he might have thrown the note away immediately. However, when he'd read that The Princess had agreed that the man who won her virginity would also be able to remove her mask and know her given name when they were finally alone in the bed chamber, he decided to keep the parchment as a reminder of what he would lose if he should allow himself to fall into doldrums. The thought of slowly untying the ribbons that held up his lovely's mask, and slipping the fabric away from those golden-pink cheeks to completely reveal his maiden to his languid perusal, and to hear her secret name spoken in his ear made Draco's loins tighten painfully.

Gods almighty, he was a fool to his tool! He simply _had_ to have her; the fantasies of his imagination weren't enough anymore. But he had to win her honestly, in a _very_ un-Slytherin way of thinking, which was proving to be difficult for him to wrap his mind around.

There was no other choice if he wished to appease this hunger burning throughout his body, though. Several times this week, he'd brought himself to orgasm just thinking of his Princess. Touching himself so much was beginning to become uncomfortable, as it left him tired and still not wholly satisfied. He wanted the real thing. He wanted to run his hands over those soft breasts, the tops of which he'd been given a visual tease of just last week, and he wanted to suckle on her nipples until he bruised them with his attentions. Would they be light pink or rose-colored buds? Visions of running his fingers through her dark mahogany-colored tresses - of fisting a handful of that riot of curls and pulling her in as he captured her pliant, kissable lips - haunted him. He wanted to push that green, flowing dress up her thighs slowly, licking his way towards her swollen, drenched pussy lips, and he wanted to taste her sweetness on his tongue. He wanted to make her first time something she would never forget – so she would never forget _him_. Because intuitively, Draco knew that after the auction had ended, and her promise fulfilled to the winner, his lovely would simply vanish as mysteriously as she'd entered the scene. She was not selling off her hand in marriage, after all, but only her body for a single night's pleasure. That meant he _had_ to win the bidding if he wanted even a moment alone with her. Otherwise, she'd be lost to him forever.

For that reason, he had spent days researching the perfect gift for his lovely, and after some hardship, he'd finally acquired it. He hoped she'd like it.

**X~~~~~X**

When Draco arrived that night at a quarter past nine, he was told by Blaise – who was lounging in the main entry way with his pretty red-headed lover, watching the proceedings with interest – that The Princess had already seen Theodore Nott, and currently, she was with Bill Weasley. And no, Blaise hadn't seen either man's gift, so he couldn't comment.

Draco sat, lounging in one of the overstuffed cozy chairs by the large hearth, feigning disinterest and casual confidence. All the while, his eyes carefully watched other curious suitors slip into the room and wait around, even if their turns were hours away. The parade of the lovelorn, as they would be known in Paris jokingly, sized each other up (much to Blaise's amusement).

"Who's that fellow over there?" his mocha-skinned friend asked the pretty in his lap, pointing to a darkened corner at a tall, frowning bloke with flaming red hair and a hard, blue-grey gaze. _Le Renard Rouge_ glanced in the direction Blaise indicated and chuckled with amusement.

"Oh, that's… one of the House bodyguards. He calls himself 'The Keeper,'" she explained nonchalantly. "He's no one of importance, I assure you."

Blaise's eyebrow shot up. "Then why does he keep glancing at me with murder in his eyes?" he asked, equally amused. "Perhaps he is of your acquaintance, darling?" That last was said between clenched teeth.

His friend's woman smiled thin-lipped and icily at Blaise, her bright, sapphire eyes flattening out with warning. "Stop with your insinuations there, my sexy Italian, and I'll let you keep your balls."

The two exchanged violently clashing wills behind the ramparts of their gazes; Blaise was obviously jealous, and his woman was clearly daring him to push her further on the subject. After a long minute of silence, Zabini finally blinked with exaggerated boredom and looked away. "No matter. So long as he knows to keep his hands to himself. You're mine."

_Le Renard Rouge_ laughed, and it was an abruptly loud, merry sound in the somber room. "I don't think you need worry about _him_, lover," she assured with a caress across his cheek. "Although, I can't say the same about any other men…" Cleverly, she held up her left hand and examined the well-kept nails, but it was clear what she was implying – that until Blaise put a ring on her finger, she was fair game, as she hadn't given him an exclusive commitment yet, as Aster had for Draco.

Unfortunately, the little red-haired minx underestimated Blaise's green-eyed monster… or perhaps, she knew and this had been her plan all along. In either case, in a flash, his friend was on his feet, his woman held in his arms bridal-style with ease, his burly muscles more than adequate to the task of carrying her full weight without effort. "We'll see about that," Zabini scowled, and proceeded with her clasped tightly to him posthaste to her chambers, ignoring everyone else in the room. Draco caught a flash of triumph on the girl's face as she flung her arms about Blaise's neck and giggled, holding on while he mounted the stairs with her.

Females of any race were quite possibly the most manipulative creatures ever created, Draco thought in that moment - which was all well, since males were designed to be, inarguably, the most pathetic half-wits when it came to feminine wiles anyway. And no matter how he wished to deny it, Draco knew that he was not immune from such a curse. The proof was in the pudding: he was about to throw away most of his personal inheritance (if not all of it) for a single evening of pleasure with a woman he was clearly obsessed with already, despite knowing practically nothing about her.

Bill Weasley came down the stairs at just that moment. Draco checked the Sandkeeper on the wall – it was ten minutes till ten o'clock. Bringing himself to standing attention and adjusting his jacket and mask, he made his way next up the stairs, passing his red-haired competitor with a nod of respect.

At exactly ten o'clock, he knocked and entered when requested to do so. He crossed over to his Princess – who's hair was gathered up off her neck in an elaborate twist; she was dressed in an extremely flattering, tightly-hugging Parisian-styled halter dress with train in a flattering red velvet- and bowed politely to both her and Madam Sinistra, intentionally not touching his lovely yet, wanting to see how she'd react to that. As he'd hoped, she seemed a little confused and almost disappointed, but she recovered quickly and took her seat across from him, the same as before. Draco leaned back into the cushions of the couch, waiting for some comment about the gift. It took less than a minute, but didn't come from the woman he'd expected.

"And where is your appropriate gesture of interest, _Monsieur_ Dragon?" Aurora asked, a tad snippy. "I see that you bring nothing in hand. Do you dare disrespect the lady you have come to woo?"

He considered his response, turning to The Princess. "Red is more than agreeable on you, I admit," he dared, letting his eyes roam her lithe form, ignoring the hiss of dissatisfaction from Aurora for ignoring her questions. "But you were _divine_ in green, Princess. Perhaps you had nothing else in the color to wear, though… or did you forget my request on purpose?" He was mildly disappointed. Had he assumed a greater impression had been left than what she'd actually felt?

His lovely's lips curled up in a mysterious smile. "No, I did not forget, _Monsieur_ Dragon. But first, show me yours. Then I will show you mine," she countered.

It was obvious that she was referring to his gift. Draco chuckled darkly, and reaching into his coat pocket, withdrew a small, silken purse. He tossed it across the distance at her. To his amazement, The Princess caught it without missing a beat. She gave him a raised eyebrow in curiosity, and he indicated with a finger that she should… "Open it."

Untying the strings, she pulled the bag open and looked in, then reached in with her right hand and withdrew his gift. "A seashell?" she asked, amused, holding up the five centimeter long, opalescent _Wentletrap_ shell. The delicate crests on the surface caught the light from the floating, glowing orbs that lined the ceiling of the room. "To prove you shores are warm and tropical, I assume?"

He shrugged. In a manner of speaking, he supposed. In order to get his hands on this item, he'd had to do something definitely hot and steamy. "Perhaps," he replied cryptically, nudging his chin at the item. "Put it to your ear."

She did as instructed and gasped in true joy. "It is beautiful! Who is that singing?"

"The Queen of the _Encantado_," he informed her with some pride. His lovely gasped in awe, obviously recognizing the reference, and Draco was impressed that she had knowledge of uncommon magical creatures. "She charmed it to eternally repeat the same tune over and over." And all it had cost him was an exchange of his seed (which was made dormant and ineffectual in advance with a spell to prevent his sperm from impregnating the female humanoid creature; there was _no way_ he was creating a bastard child, especially one that wasn't even fully human) for the gift of the Queen's song. Although, it hadn't been an entirely unpleasant experience having sex with the alluring shape-shifter, he certainly would not wish to repeat it either.

The Princess closed her eyes and listened, smiling. "What is she saying?"

"She's calling out for a lover to answer her prayers and choose her for mating," he explained truthfully. He thought it a rather apropos sentiment to his own situation with The Princess. "So I take it you like your gift then?"

The Princess stared at the small, white shell and numbly nodded. "It is… oh, it is just _amazing_! The _Encantado_ are so elusive. Not much is known about them. How did you get this? Do you know one personally? Can you tell me more?"

Draco smirked slyly and shook his head. "Only if you show me yours now," he challenged. "Fair's fair, Princess."

Reverently holding the shell in one hand, his lovely looked first at the Abbess, and then at him, blushing shyly. Then, she began lifting the hem of her dress up on her left side. Draco's mouth went suddenly dry when The Princess' petite ankle came into view. There, wrapped around it was a green ribbon, tied in a bow. She quickly lowered the dress as soon as he'd seen the verification he needed; so, she _did_ have some sort of feeling for him!

Aurora predictably gasped, scandalized. She lightly spanked The Princess' arm in disapproval. "No woman of breeding dare show such a thing outside the bedroom," she chastised her charge.

Draco frowned, wishing he'd been privy to a hell of a lot more skin than just that little amount. He could fantasize about it later, however; about how he would demand she put that small, dark green slip of silk back on for him the night he won her, and then how he would lift that little, beribboned ankle close to his face and kiss it while he inserted his cock into her slowly...

The Princess ignored her custodian's censure, and threw him a tiny, almost naughty smile that made Draco's penis jerk in his pants. "Does that satisfy your curiosity?"

"No," he admitted with a devilish grin, and they locked knowing gazes. His insides clenched with need for this woman. "But it'll have to do for now." He cast an amused look at Sinistra, who was harrumphing at his audacity. He crossed his legs, checking the Sandkeeper on the wall. They still had thirty minutes together. "So, what do you want to know about magical creatures, my lovely?" he asked, relaxing fully again, determined to get to know the real Princess behind the mask.

They spent the remainder of their time discussing the lore of beasts, talking about what he had discovered about the _Encantado_ from his research (he did not divulge how he'd managed to convince the Queen to sing for him, obviously), debating the existence of the Lethifold (he believed Flavius Belby's written encounter with one in 1782 was complete tripe, made up so the man could sell his wildly unpopular book series, whereas The Princess was more open minded about the idea that Lethifolds – like male Veela – could possibly exist), and the Minotaur of Crete (whom The Princess insisted must have existed at one time for Ovid to have written about it in such detail, and whom Draco argued to be just myth to encourage tourism to the island), and the Puffskein (this time, his lovely denied such a creature could be real, where Draco asserted their existence with assurance – his deceased mother had owned one, once upon a time).

What they talked of was of little importance to Draco, in all honesty. He was more intrigued with the mind behind the pretty façade, and what he discovered was that his lovely was _extremely_ intelligent, although clearly still a little wet behind the ears. She thirsted for knowledge and challenging discourse as well. This was something Draco could give her, for he was well lettered and worldly, having spent most of his childhood and early adulthood traveling during summer and winter breaks from school. He was as comfortable mingling amongst the Ton at high society parties as he was in the outback on expedition with wild game hunters. His parents, before their tragic deaths, had spoiled him with life experience, giving him whatever his heart had desired, be it material goods or exciting holidays. He hoped all of that knowledge would be enough to capture her imagination and, as a result, her heart.

When their time was up, obviously both wanted to continue the discussion, enjoying their conversational ease, but Madam Sinistra made it clear that there were others waiting for The Princess' attention this evening, and Draco could not detain the young woman any longer. With sighs of regret on both ends, he stood to make his exit. The Princess stood as well, and this time, he took her hand in his. Again, sparkling, exhilarating magic jumped between them, and both of them reacted with loss of breath and instant desire for the other.

Draco recovered first, stepping in closer, knowing now was the tricky part of the evening. He'd thought they'd created an excellent rapport tonight, but had she? Their future depended upon her acceptance or denial of him in this moment. "Accept me," he bid her in a low, seductive voice, his pulse in his throat. "Say you'll see me again."

There was a tad bit of fear in his lovely's eyes, as she clearly did not understand what was happening between them, but there was also longing. Lustful hunger heated her cheeks. Almost helpless to the pull they both felt towards each other, she nodded.

"Yes."

Aurora stood, and removed her ward's hand from his gently. "Then you will come back here next Wednesday at 7 o'clock in the evening, _Monsieur_ Dragon. You will have two hours together to learn more over tea and biscuits. I will be in attendance. Bring another token of your esteem."

Draco smiled, greatly relieved. "I will _definitely_ come," he promised, and started to turn away. Before he took a single step, however, he whirled back around, grabbed The Princess' free hand and placed a kiss to the back of her knuckles with a boyish, playful grin. "Good night, my lovely, Madam Sinistra," he completed the ritual, and then turned and left, closing the door quietly behind him.

**X~~~~~X**

Hermione drifted on a sea of bliss for the next three hours, hardly speaking to her next three appointments: Charmer, Lawyer, and Whit. Her mind constantly strayed to _Monsieur_ Dragon. These others after… they were nice men, but there was no fire for them as there was for her black and silver masked suitor. In the end, she rejected the three for the next round, feeling terribly bad that she couldn't give them any sort of interest, but understanding that if one of them were to win her, she would be disappointed terribly. The loss of these men from the bidding might do her harm in the end, but her heart just couldn't make itself feel anything but revulsion towards the idea of giving her virginity away to one of them.

It was not until her two o'clock appointment with "Scots" that she was properly re-engaged in conversation. This man was interesting, even though she knew little about Quidditch to keep up with his enthusiasm for the subject. His Scottish accent practically purred in her ear, though, making her schoolgirl giggly. His mask was an interesting cat facade, black on gold on bronze, with white swirling designs decorating the cheeks and forehead. And he gave her a wonderful gift: his Keeper's Golden Glove that he'd been awarded when his team (whom he could not divulge the name of) won the European League Cup once. It was a worthy present, as it represented his dedication to his career, and was the only one he would ever receive for that win. That he was giving it to her meant he held her in high esteem already. He was invited for a two-hour tea at ten o'clock the next Wednesday.

Her next interview at three o'clock was Politico. He did not make the cut onto the next round either. He was nice and well spoken, especially about politics – but that was the real problem. He maneuvered their conversation around to topics that interested him only, and Hermione felt too manipulated by him to trust. No, this one was not for her either.

Argonaut came for her final meeting at four o'clock in the morning. He looked spry despite the late hour, and she adored his outfit – loose-fitted pants with an attractive inseam, polished high boots to the knees, ruffled shirt (an old fashion from France that had made the rounds again), and a brilliant red waist coat that matched the shade of her dress exactly. His blue and silver ancient Greecian military-style half-mask showed off his chops, which were of an attractive length, as was his thin, well-groomed moustache. He was impeccable and courtly, and she discovered, very learned. From his manner of speech, she fancied him a professor, and from their discussion, he revealed that his interest were the classics of Greece. He was invited back for a two-hour tea on the Sunday at ten o'clock in the evening.

So, of the nine men she'd met tonight, only Knot, Wolf, Scots, Argonaut and Dragon were interesting enough to invite back. Tomorrow night, she would meet with nine more, and Sunday, the remaining eight.

She sighed. It was going to be a long weekend.

**X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X**

_**June 12, 1815 (Monday)**_

It was Monday afternoon before Hermione woke up, and she was _still _exhausted, even after achieving a full eight hours of sleep. This "round robin" dating was taking a lot out of her, but her schedule for the week was now completely booked as well, leaving her little room to breathe practically. Every evening from 7:00 o'clock until midnight, and on Friday until three o'clock in the morning, she was meeting for two-hour teas with each suitor. Saturday and Sunday were similarly packed, starting at one o'clock in the afternoon and going until midnight both nights. So, there was little time to relax before tonight's third round began, she wearily thought.

At least she'd been able to whittle down the list of suitors a bit more, although Aurora had cautioned her not to toss aside (Hermione cringed at the term, as these men were not garbage to be thrown away… they just weren't compatible, was all) too many at this point. In addition to the four from Friday night-Saturday morning's interviews that she'd let go, she'd wished a fond and appreciative farewell to Raven, Shakespeare and Finchy (the only reason she hadn't cut The Prince was because Madam Sinistra _heavily_ discouraged her doing so, stating the man's title and wealth created tense competition).

This week would be an important interview process, where up to half of the men would be eliminated, in preparation for the final fourth meetings, where the invitation to bid would be decided. Her fate would be sealed and her innocence lost on July the 1st finally.

Three weeks away.

The thought terrified her, honestly, as she had absolutely no experience in love play whatsoever – not even so much as a kiss. She'd had the act described to her in vivid detail, learned how to play coy, and had been educated in the finer points of "walk, talk and come-hither" from Aurora's training, but she'd never seen the act consummated in person. She wanted to know what she was going to have to _actually_ do. "I would like to know," she explained her trepidation to the House Madam later that day. "Talking about it is not the same. Perhaps you have books with illustrations that I might reference?" She was blushing furiously. Sex talk still embarrassed her, no matter how often she engaged in it with the Madam. She couldn't help her upbringing's conservative training.

Her guardian measured her carefully for long, quiet moments before offering a solution. "Books cannot describe it accurately enough, I think, for your curiosity," Aurora stated knowingly. "I think this situation requires the sin of voyeurism to appease your thirst for knowledge, young one. I will ask the women if they would mind a secret viewing behind the mirrors."

Hermione had been told that _La Cerise_ offered gentlemen the opportunity to "look, but not touch," should they have the predilection (with consent of all parties in advance, of course). The two-way mirrors in many rooms provided this opportunity to engage in such a fetish. They also allowed the Madam to look in when she wanted to assure that the House rules were being followed and that her women were being cared for. The mirrors served as security and protection as well. Knowing that these items would now be put to Hermione's use so she could observe firsthand the art of love making… She flushed crimson throughout her body. Could she? Dare she?

"Not one of the suitors," she requested. "I know that they each visit here often, but do not think I could bear it."

Sinistra nodded in acquiescence. "I will arrange it. Perhaps tomorrow or the next day, if you feel up to it?"

Nodding in acceptance, Hermione moved back to the room she'd been given to edit her lists on the various suitors – the pros and the cons – from this last weekend's sorties.

Under the column she'd designated "Bidders" she considered who to add…

There was Knot - the House Madam's first choice last Friday night. He was extremely well informed on magical theory (as far as Hermione could tell from their forty-five minute discussion), and from what she could see around the mask, seemingly rather attractive. He was well-mannered and well-spoken, and his eyes were a lovely dark blue, like the Arctic Ocean. His gift to her had been an out-of-print 14th century book on Transfiguration theory (during their first meeting, she had remarked that Transfiguring one's features would have been easier than wearing masks, to which Knot had teasingly replied that it was so much more fun this way). He had definitely piqued her curiosity.

Vivi had moved her soul with his gift of music. He'd written an original classical piece in her honor this last week, and he performed it live on his violin during their interview on Sunday. He was clearly well on his way to becoming a _Stradivari_ performer, she suspected. That he'd treated his instrument and the composition he'd made for her so delicately and beautifully made her believe he would treat her the same way in bed, if he were to win the bidding. Shy, in general, he was unfortunately difficult to maintain an easy-flowing conversation with, but he was honest and sincere in what he did say, and that made all the difference to Hermione.

Boot was clearly an endorser, and although Hermione wasn't sure that she would be comfortable lying with a man who enjoyed men as well, she honestly doubted he'd be too serious to bid all that high for her anyway. He was good for the competition, however (as Aurora was _constantly_ reminding her), as he would bid initially and help drive the price up. And he was relatively benign in character, so he was a "safe" bet to place in this first list of names. Plus, he was fun to talk to. He'd given her the gift of a silken hand fan that the Queen Regent, Maria I, of Portugal had given him on his last world tour.

Gold was chock full of interesting facts about alchemy and metals – two subjects Hermione knew very little about and was fascinated by. Their conversation on Saturday flowed quite naturally and was rather upbeat. That his mask was plain gold – not pretentious, as some of them were – was attractive to her, as were his dark brown eyes and sandy blond hair. She especially found her eyes wandering to his lips, which were full and very kissable looking. He'd brought her a delicate gold butterfly pendant (to match her mask, he claimed) with rare gems from the Americas set into the wings.

York was very interesting. He appeared to know an awful lot about potions; he'd made her a present of one that he had invented just for her this last week, in fact, called "Sweet Dreams Princess" (it supposedly allowed one to fall into a restful sleep and for their dreams to be filled with pleasant fantasy). Inventing a whole new recipe in under a week… that would make him a Master of the art – very impressive! He had very clean, polished hands, too, and he smelled of light cloves which tickled Hermione's nose.

Argonaut was an interesting conversationalist, and his scholarly aptitude was something Hermione could appreciate. His gift was a scroll from the Library at Alexandria, containing an account of the life of Homer. Hermione felt a good connection there.

The flashy, bird-like mask Jer wore was as mysterious as the man himself. He'd brought her an interesting musical jewelry box, which he'd hand-carved for her. He'd even constructed the cylinder, pins and metal comb, which played "Beethoven's Violin Sonata No. 10 (II) in G major – Adagio espressivo." It was an amazing feat, and so delicately done, too! Apparently, there was more to the man than she'd been able to glean in just two interviews, and it was this that compelled her to know more about him.

Scots was in. No debate was necessary there.

Wolf… the man had hinted that he knew the rare magic of Curse Breaking this last interview (she thought perhaps that dropping that piece of information had been calculated, and not accidental), which made her believe she might know who he was (after all, there were only a handful of men in the business currently, and one in particular was often mentioned in the Society Pages of _The Daily Prophet_ – a dashing rogue named Bill Weasley). Wolf seemed a bit older than the other suitors – she would guess he was already into his thirties by his carriage and demeanor – but his self-imposed bachelorhood to date only added to the attraction as Hermione could appreciate an older man's sophistication. Wolf's unique fashion sense (he wore his crimson hair long and tied back, instead of short, as the current style for men dictated, he liked tight-fitting clothes, and his mask was a thing of wild beauty - shaped like a dog's head, complete with snout, painted black with red swirling designs) and his provocatively intimating style of speech (so much like the Dragon's) made him a keeper. He'd given her a rare rune stone of a wolf image taken from the burial of a Viking wizard's tomb that he'd opened in Greenland.

Dragon… Hermione's heart sped up just thinking of the man. Everything about him was acutely compelling. She felt a very special connection to him, for a reason that was simply indefinable. He was witty, clever, perceptive, and exceptionally adroit at making her heart patter madly for him. He spoke to her intimately, as if they were already lovers; as if the auction was already decided and he knew she was his. That their magic seemed to draw them together was something she didn't share with any of the other men. And that beautiful, light-gold hair and those grey, alluring eyes! She knew it was against the rules, but a part of her wished already that the auction was done, and that she would belong to him.

She had a feeling, however, that one night with her devilish, too-tempting Dragon wouldn't be enough for her, and she was sure that was all he was looking for. For that reason alone, she was worried by this odd drive she felt deep within to continue their acquaintance. Becoming emotionally attached to any one man during this business arrangement was trouble for her fragile heart; if she were smart, she would cut him from the roster. Self-preservation dictated this was the logical course of action.

And yet she added his name to the "bidder" column without hesitation. She knew it was foolish, but she wanted him to be the one, and knew she would be unable to exclude him any more than she could draw her next breath. He'd gotten into her blood, and now she was helpless to his pull.

With a deep, resigned sigh, she moved on to the next column - that which contained the names of those who she'd already determined she didn't have a connection with, and would probably not be moved to change her opinion, even though it was based on only two short meetings. Here, the names were easier: Four (he was a little creepy, honestly, with those dark, staring eyes that made her feel naked in a bad way in front of him), Chef (a nice man, but obsessed with food; he'd made comments a few times on Saturday about fattening her up, as she was too skinny for his tastes), Brun (same reason as Four), Loc (he was the type who wanted a woman on his arm as an ornament to make him look better, which offended Hermione's sensibilities), and Irish (he was a bit tipsy on the drink when he came in on Sunday, and it was obvious the man liked his liquor a tad too much).

The last column was for "The Undecided," and the remainder of the men were placed under this heading, awaiting a judgment call from this next round of interviews… which began tonight.

Hermione sighed, _almost_ wishing that the bidding were this week instead, so she could just get it over with and move on with her life.

**X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X**

_**June 13, 1815 (Tuesday)**_

As Hermione left the small, dark room that she and Aurora had sat in to watch The Italian occupy _Le Renard Rouge_ (who had removed her fox-shaped mask, revealing just a plain black mask underneath) through the two-way mirror, she felt decidedly faint. She fanned herself furiously, trying to cool her hot cheeks, and quickly hurried back to her own room, where she patted herself down with some water splashed into a basin on her dressing table.

Godric's bones, that was… _incroyable__!_ So beautiful. So erotic.

The Italian had relished Ginevra with his big hands, his pillowed lips, his pink, expert tongue and his very well-endowed, well-controlled Thomas for the better part of two hours.

At first, she'd sat back in awe and watched as he'd bit and licked his lover's nipples, at the same time as he'd thrust his fingers between her legs and began moving them about. The red-headed woman came to climax very soon this way, and Aurora drew her attention to The Italian's face at that moment; he'd been enraptured by his lover's responses to his technique. The first lesson she'd learned that afternoon was to remember to compliment the man she would eventually end up with by telling him how good he was making her feel during such moments, for men needed to know such things during the act, the Abbess had explained. Hermione filed that advice away.

After _Le Renard Rouge_ had reached her peak and recovered, she'd gone to her knees and taken her lover's _bitte_ between her lips and into her mouth. Hermione paid close attention, ignoring the slippery wetness between her own legs to watch and educate herself. Aurora explained the mechanics of a good _avaler la fumée_ to her in a whisper at the same time as she was viewing it. Throughout it all, she just couldn't get over how frighteningly large The Italian's cock had been when it had finally been revealed (her guardian had assured her that most men were a thumb's length shorter and not so thick, but still, the actual, live sight of a man's penis - especially one so huge - surprised her)!

The Italian stopped Ginevra before he reached his own orgasm, and Sinistra had then explained that not all men were so considerate. Some enjoyed ejaculating their seed into the mouth, and in such cases, the woman was expected to swallow the _cemani_, not spit. The taste, she'd described, was very salty and usually rather gooey; she advised simply that if she ever engaged in this fetish, to let the man's seed slide down her throat, breathing through the nose at the same time, to make the experience go quicker.

Hermione was thoroughly distracted after that by The Italian lying down on the bed and summoning his Convenient to crawl over his body. What happened next shocked and aroused Hermione simultaneously: holding himself erect in one hand, The Italian gripped Ginevra's hip with his free hand and guided her to sit upon him, taking that giant length up and inside her quim! They moved slowly, and from the angle she was sitting, Hermione had a full view of the action. Aurora explained that because of his size, Ginevra could not fully take The Italian's _Arbor Vitae_ into her at first, and Hermione noted this was true when the red-headed courtesan stopped with some length still to spare. With both hands now gripping his woman's blind cupid, spreading her cheeks wide in an intimate and compromising way, they began gliding together. Hermione thought it an exquisite, sexy dance of glistening skin as the powerfully-built man thrust upwards at the same time as Ginevra pushed her body down upon him. Within minutes, The Italian was fully buried to the hilt in Ginevra, and Aurora explained that once a woman opened up inside, she was able to take more of a man into her.

Fascinated and turned-on, her fan whipping back and forth in an effort to cool her body temperature down, Hermione watched the couple engage in what the French so prettily dubbed '_baiser_.' It lasted only a few minutes, to the tune of loud gasping and crying out from both parties, then she heard The Italian proclaim that he was close. He asked his partner if she was similarly near her orgasm. Ginevra nodded, obviously unable to speak around her moans. A few more thrusts and the red-head screamed out that she loved her _amoureux_, her whole body going rigid, and her face thrust to the sky. Almost immediately following her, The Italian pumped himself into her hard several more times, groaning loudly as he climaxed as well. Then it was over and the couple collapsed together, holding each other and panting harshly.

Aurora made her stay for the next round, which was the standard missionary position, with the man on top. From this angle, Hermione watched The Italian pump himself in and out of _Le Renard Rouge_ almost mercilessly. She seemed to enjoy every second being speared on her lover's member; her teeth bit his neck and her nails scored his arms and back in the throes of her passion (her guardian pointed out that not every man enjoyed such violence in bed, and that Hermione would have to gauge it by lightly trying it out first and checking the man's reaction). Paying particular attention to the position of the hands and legs, Hermione learned that a woman could wrap her ankles around the man's waist (for deeper penetration, Aurora explained), and that a man could kneel and lift his lover's legs up over his shoulders (to increase the tightness around his member, she was informed), and as The Italian so magnificently demonstrated. Both positions were mostly for his pleasure, the House Madam imparted, as the woman's pleasure was stimulated from both the clitoris and the inside being rubbed simultaneously. Women, she learned, did not always climax either; many often faked it (personally, she couldn't understand how that would be, as she wanted to find a release just _watching_ the act).

Promising her another show tomorrow, her guardian escorted her out of the darkened secret room, and Hermione left quietly as the exhausted couple lay down to nap, entwining their limbs around each other in rest.

Back in the safety of her room, Hermione flushed hot all over as she relived the memories of her first voyeur session. Her lower lips between her thighs quivered and throbbed as she recalled the way The Italian pierced Ginevra the first time, and the shouts of love she had heard echo from both of them when they came together twice. She wondered what it would be like to have one of her suitors place his mouth down below and ease her desire. Instantly, the vision of platinum-blond hair slipping through her fingers while winter grey eyes watched her from between her legs overpowered her senses. What would _Monsieur_ Dragon's silver-forked tongue feel like dipping between her legs and touching her bead? It would probably be heavenly...

Splashing more water on her cheeks, Hermione shuddered, wondering why of all the men she had met and connected with in her life, it was the Dragon who was the only one in her dreams now. Goodness, tomorrow night he would come to sit with her for two whole hours! Would she be able to look him in the eye, after fantasizing about him so?

Calming her heart, she lay back on her bed and stared at the white ceiling, wishing it were Wednesday night already.

* * *

_**TO BE CONTINUED...**_

_**

* * *

**_

**AUTHOR'S EXTENDED NOTES:**

**Maximus Brankovitch III is mentioned in the book "****Quidditch Throughout The Ages****" (a supplemental book written by J.K. Rowling) as being Seeker and Captain of the Fitchburg Finches Quidditch Team, who are stationed in Massachusetts within the United States of America. I didn't make this character up – JKR did. **

**Abbess**** = Vintage slang term for a brothel's madam.**

**The phrase "fool for his/my tool" was an old expression from Medieval England. Men of the middle upper classes would often couch references about their penises in polite conversation, thinking women weren't educated enough to figure out what they were talking about if they did so. The reference to a "tool" refers to the common idea that a man's hip sword was his "greatest tool" for both defense and offense. The comical phallic symbolism is not lost on most of us today, even if it was for many women of breeding back centuries ago.**

- **Wentletrap**** = A type of white-pearl colored seashell. Here's a site that shows a picture: http:/www(dot)seashells(dot)org / seashells / **

**Encantado**** = (Spanish meaning "Enchanted"). Mythological creatures – dolphin shaped – who shapeshift into humans. According to the Wiki entry, "There are three elements that best characterize Encantados: superior musical ability, their seductiveness and love of sex (often resulting in illegitimate children), and their attraction to parties." Neat-o. I co-opted them for this fic.**

**The Lethifold and Puffskeins are creatures JKR made up for this series. The references to them come directly from "Fantastic Beasts & Where To Find Them."**

T**he Minotaur of Crete is a Greek mythological creature that the hero, Theseus, killed. You can read about it at Wikipedia.**

**Endorser**** = Vintage slang term for a homosexual.**

**Stradivari ****= The Stradivari family were the famous European master craftsmen who were best known for building Stradivarius violins. These instruments are world-renown and believed to be the most perfect musical instruments mankind has ever constructed (they are perfect in pitch and resonance). To be called a "Stradivari" of any field is to be deemed the finest there is.**

**Incroyable****! = French for "incredible!"**

**A Convenient ****= Vintage slang for a man's mistress or prostitute. High-class Convenients were also called 'toffers.'**

**Cemani**** = Latin for "semen."**

**A** **Thomas ****= Vintage slang term for a man's penis.**

**Quim**** = Vintage slang term for a woman's vagina.**

**Bitte**** = French vintage slang term for a man's penis.**

**Arbor Vitae**** = Vintage slang term for a man's penis.**

**Blind cupid ****= Vintage slang term for a person's backside (buttocks).**

**Avaler la fumée**** = French for "to swallow the smoke," a 14****th**** century slang term for "to give a blowjob (which ends with swallowing the sperm)."**

**Baiser**** = French for "to kiss," but in slang terms can also mean "to fuck."**

**Amoureux**** = French for "lover."**


	3. Ch 3: Falling Under Your Spell

_**CHAPTER THREE: FALLING UNDER YOUR SPELL**_

_**Diagon Alley - London, England **_

_**June 14, 1815 (Wednesday)**_

Hermione fidgeted once more with her mask, making sure it was securely in place. She wanted tonight to go better than the last two nights, especially since her first suitor was a man she'd thought about habitually since his last visit a few days earlier.

_Monsieur_ Dragon.

Just conjuring the man's alias to mind made Hermione's lacuna clench and her blood boil. If the auction were held tomorrow, she'd pray for her platinum-blond, sinfully alluring admirer to be the winning bidder. Her guilt over not giving the other suitors similar thought was silenced almost immediately by the mere fantasy of having The Dragon touch and kiss her and make her cry out in ecstasy, much as The Italian had done with his mistress, _Le Renard Rouge_. The beauty of their love making had imprinted itself upon the back of her eyelids and made her wish with all her might for the same sensual and gentle caretaking come her chance.

Comparing what she had witnessed yesterday to today's voyeur session, however, was as switching the tap from hot to cold. Not that what she'd seen today wasn't exciting, but she'd recognized almost from the first glimpse that the act had been merely one of playful release for all parties, and not one based upon the need to share a deeper affection. It had involved a set of redheaded twins nicknamed "Lynceus" and "Idas" (because they were very similar in temperament to their Greek legendary counterparts, according to Aurora). They had taken the dark-skinned Amazoness, "Angel," to bed, and it had been… extremely educational… to say the least. Hermione hadn't realized it possible to be with multiple lovers at the same time, but Angel had seemed quite accommodating to both men's naughty, slavish desires, even going so far as to take one into her mouth on her knees, while the other entered her _queynte_ from behind. After enjoying such love play for a bit, the group switched positions. The twin who's Hampton had been kissed so thoroughly before then lay back on the bed and Angel sat fully down upon him, impaling her ring to the sound of a lusty cry. She then leaned forward, and took the other man's _gladius_ into her ane simultaneously. Hermione nearly fainted at that point, witnessing something she'd never, ever in her wildest dreams thought possible: the two men moved together again in a natural, fierce rhythm to a chorus of loud moans, slapping flesh and the occasional profanity. The combined thrusts into Angel's body was met with further encouraging noises from her; clearly she was enjoying what her experienced beaus were doing to her. When the three experienced simultaneous climax soon after (which Aurora assured her was an extreme rarity, and attributed it to the fact that the _ménage a trois_ knew they were being watched behind the mirror, which had only augmented their passions), the event had left Hermione breathless and wide-eyed, with an elevated temperature that caused her to perspire heavily. She had scuttled away quickly after that and hid back in her room, terrified of how her body had become heavy with moist craving to experience sex personally after seeing it live again.

Aurora had explained to her afterward over tea that sexual congress could be more fun than meaningful, which was today's lesson for her to learn. However, Hermione still wasn't sure how to feel about that sentiment. On the one hand, she was discovering that she rather liked the attention of romance (despite her more scholarly, rational mindset). The allure and glamour of lovely sentiment, of tender words and deeds, and the thought of sharing the loss of her innocence with someone who actually cared for her was extremely enticing. On the other end of the spectrum, perhaps what she'd seen today would be a more acceptable way - an emotionally _safer_ way - to look on the sharing of her body. She was, after all, only auctioning herself off to earn the money to break her marital contract, in what was supposed to be a simple business arrangement. How would she feel if the winning bidder truly consider her nothing more than chattal? It was a question she was trying very hard not to obsess over.

Fanning herself off, shaking away her memories, and adjusting the bodice of her dress again, she tapped her fingernails nervously on the table that had been set for them on the balcony outside Madam Sinistra's receiving room.

This week's interviews favored a more amorous backdrop, overlooking the charming rose garden that graced _La Cerise's_ enclosed property. The area was currently in full bloom, and there was an explosion of colorful varietals – whites, pinks, reds, yellows, oranges, purples, even a rare green species of rose. The flowers climbed the wooden fences, trestles and the large arch in the center of the patch, they lined the groomed, white stone path through the middle, and they were trimmed at differing heights and thicknesses in an artistic attempt at layering to create depth. And the fragrant scent of the blooms… ah, how they tickled and enticed the senses! Roses were Hermione's favorite flowers.

Inhaling deeply, she felt uplifted again - greatly improved over her stormy mood of the last two days.

She grimaced recalling Monday night's round of meetings; they had been _simply dreadful_. She'd been tired and a bit out of sorts emotionally, it being the first day of her menses, and the pressure of the round robin meetings had laid themselves upon the back of her neck. She'd felt a tad guilty that her first suitor up then – Irish – had borne the brunt of her displeasure that night. Nothing the man said or did from start to finish had been right. However, to be fair, he wasn't the most sincere or the most charming of company, either (he'd clearly had a wee nip from the old drinking flask for courage before appearing before her – something that utterly turned her stomach when he'd breathed his greeting too close to her cheek). She'd survived the uninteresting conversation for the requisite two hours, and then cut him from the lineup as soon as he'd walked out the door. Maxsee had been next, and although the man was of better manners than his predecessor, their conversation had enlightened her to a fact that she found the man's overall personality rather distasteful; he referred to women as 'property.' If there was one thing Hermione absolutely found repugnant it was hulking male chauvinism. He hadn't made the grade either, and Aurora had let him know as soon as he'd left their presence. She wouldn't be seeing either of those men again, thankfully.

Tuesday night had excelled in comparison to the one before, although she'd still not been in the most congenial of moods to start (day two of her feminine devil was always more painful than day one). Thankfully, she'd been wooed by two very charming and fascinating men: Knot and Gold. It was difficult not to be pleased and much happier by the end of both of their visits, as both appointments had been a wonderful opportunity for her to learn new things through the sharing of fascinating discourse, and to be regarded with interest by her conversational partners. It had cheered her attitude remarkably, and she had found herself a little curious to discover more about these particular suitors – enough that they were invited back the next week for round four.

However, even considering such men for further relationship building didn't diminish her obsession with The Dragon, she finally accepted. He stood mountains above even the top pick on her list - and tonight, she'd meet with him first.

Too full of energy to sit still, Hermione hopped to her slippered feet and began pacing back and forth across the thick, Turkish rug. "Patience, child," the Abbess advised smoothly from her seat by the window. "This one… he will not dare be late."

To Hermione's utmost delight, Aurora had been correct. At precisely seven p.m., _Monsieur _Dragon glided into the room wearing attire that caused the blood to flush through her breast rapidly, and to halt her feet's procession on a knut. His form-fitting, charcoal-grey trousers were topped off by black leather riding boots that terminated at the knee. His cravat and shirt were snowy white, and the waistcoat a pale blue that was stripe-lined with silver satin; together they accented his beautiful steel-grey eyes and platinum hair. His cropped, woolen jacket with the long coattails was of a daring sapphire blue, with black velvet cuffs. The colors and cut of the outfit were powerful, striking. Her heart throbbed in her mouth at the sight of him, even as all thought to proper greeting decorum flew from her brain. Inwardly, she groaned.

Heaven help her, but it was going to take a divine miracle to keep her at an emotionally safe distance from this man!

**X~~~~~X**

Draco took one look at his lovely and all intelligence abandoned him. She was absolutely a stunning creature – a literal goddess amongst women.

The floor length, one-shouldered dress was of Grecian design again, but with the modernized flare from a Parisian boutique. It appeared to be made of duchess satin, with embroidered flower patterns traveling over the left breast and hip, gathering with the material around the empire waist. It was less form-fitting than her last dress, but it clung to the right curves, giving her a softer, more romantic flair. The attractive shade of lavender of the silken fabric merely highlighted the woman's darker features – her eyes and that gorgeous, tumbling, curling mass of hair that was pinned up, and allowed to free-flow down the back.

Minutes ticked by where neither said a word. A slow, teasing smile eventually wound its way up the side of The Princess' perfectly pink painted lips and her dark, chocolate eyes shimmered with mirth. "Did the Minister's kneazle catch your tongue, _Monsieur_?"

Her playful jibe snapped him out of his idleness, and he stepped into her personal circle, bowing low to both her and Madam Sinistra. "I apologize for my discourteous ogling, but it seems you have the power to unravel me, Princess."

That alluring smile widened. "A man of your quality – come undone?" she huskily joked. "I find that hard to believe."

The challenge to the depth of his feelings for her was blatant, and Draco met it characteristically head-on, taking one step closer, leaving only a forearm's width between their bodies. He smoothly juggled the box he was carrying under his left arm, and reached for her delicate fingers with his right hand. As soon as they brushed flesh, magic sparked and jumped between them again, shooting lightning into his loins and chest. He controlled his reaction this time, but was gratified by The Princess' gasp and the pretty blush that rose up her neck, and was momentarily distracted by the quickening rise and fall of the cleavage above the bodice of her gown. Raising his eyes languidly over her pale rosy-gold throat, caressing her jaw and cheek with his perusal, he locked gazes with her at last. "Do you not feel the proof every time we touch?" he murmured, his pulse thumping about in his chest like a rabid animal.

She lowered her eyes, speaking in a hushed tone, clearly unnerved by their proximity and touching. "You seem quite calm to me, actually."

He brought her hand up to his lips and kissed the backs of the knuckles lightly, then laid her palm over his heart, trapping it there with his hand. "Feel it now?" he asked, knowing he was pushing the boundaries of the auction's permissiveness, but since Sinistra had remained passive thus far… There was a pause of half a minute, and then his lovely's eyes widened in understanding. She drew in a quick breath of surprise and Draco couldn't help the chuckle that escaped his lips. "I am usually a man of great restraint and a good measure of solid reserve, but as you can feel, my lovely, you have bewitched me," he confessed softly, feeling himself drowning in her dark cinnamon depths. "As no woman ever has before."

The ravishing brunette stared up at him with large, doe-like eyes. "I can not stop listening to the song in the seashell," she blurted uncharacteristically in a whisper that was so intimately soft, that he was sure Aurora could not hear from her position; his lovely spoke for him alone. "It is my favorite gift."

Warmth flooded through him at her words and he actually smiled – something he'd been doing a lot of lately where this 'diamond of the first water' was concerned. She'd become his whole focus lately, the need to please her, his tantamount requirement, and he found himself acting quite aberrant as a result. Over the last four days, he'd accomplished no work outside of the procurement of the next unusual and rare gift for her, and the tailoring of this new outfit for tonight's appointment. He hadn't gone for his usual Monday evening port and cigars at the club with Zabini, and his childhood friends, Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle, choosing to stay at home quietly and quill in his private journal the details of his weekend, starting with the previous Friday night's meeting with his Princess. All today, he'd been anxious, pacing back and forth like a caged lion in his bedroom. He'd never been so affected by any female.

And the longer they stood in such intimate propinquity, the more apparent it became to Draco that he was in serious danger of falling for this beautiful woman, whom he knew practically nothing about. He was as Pygmalion staring hungrily at his Galatea - only his lovely was warm, in the flesh, and (if he didn't flatter himself overly) very much looking at him with blossoming feeling in return. And like the sad, Greek sculptor of myth, Draco thought he would happily commit a set of prayers to some pagan love goddess if it would guarantee this woman for him.

"It is a pleasure to see you again, _Monsieur_," Lady Sinistra interrupted the moment, reminding Draco abruptly of where they were and what he was doing.

He was too close to breaking the rules, wasn't he? Stepping back, letting his Princess' hand fall away on its own, he short-bowed once again in Aurora's direction. "And you, _Madame_." He lit up his most boyish smile for the dowager Abbess. "As always, your beauty outstrips Queen Hera herself."

A shrewd smirk wound up the side of the House Madam's face. "You are always so charmingly original, my Dragon. It is one of my favorite things about you." She clapped once and clasped her hands before her in mock petition, indicating the box in his hands. "And what have you brought our Princess today? Shall we see how you value her worth?"

Taking that as his cue, Draco righted the box, holding it out flat in one palm, while with the other hand, he reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and pulled out another small jeweler's pouch. He held them both out to The Princess. "You may choose which to open first."

_La Princesse_'s eyes widened and she smiled brightly. "My, my, _Monsieur_, but you do spoil me."

Draco grinned devilishly. "And I would continue to do so until you decide you no longer want my attentions, my lovely."

His beauty stilled so suddenly that he'd thought for a moment that she had somehow found offense with his words. Instead, what he saw reflected in her warm, brown gaze was a fire akin to hope. "Is that so?" she murmured, her voice trembling slightly.

He wanted to reply, but Aurora's second interruption caught him off-guard. "Only one present may be given per suitor, per interview, _Monsieur_. It would be unfair to allow you to win our Princess' affections by spoiling her so."

Always a quick-thinker on his feet, Draco came up with the perfect excuse. "Ah, but the item in the box is not a gift, per se, so much as proof of our last discussion." He locked eyes with Sinistra. "I should be allowed to defend the position of our debates with physical evidence, so The Princess will not think me a man of boastful exaggeration, but instead one of scholarly integrity. _Oui, ma reine_?"

The concession was made with a knowing chuckle and a bowing of Aurora's head. "_Oui, mon Dragon._"

Mentally sighing in relief, Draco turned back to his intended interest. "Your choice, then, my lovely. Which would you rather reveal first?"

**X~~~~~X**

Hermione looked from the box to the pouch, but it was the box that held the greatest mystery for her. Its size and shape and the ease at which The Dragon balanced it in his hand indicated that it contained something relatively inequitable in its mass to its size. Her imagination took off, as she tried to guess, reaching for the square shaped present first.

A handsome smile lit up her beau's face as he noted which direction she leaned, and a thrill passed through Hermione, as she realized that she had made the right choice; this one was obviously his favorite of the two gifts and the one he was most excited about her viewing. With a hesitant smile of her own, she took the item – which was indeed very light – and led them both to the small settee nearby, where Aurora allowed them to sit side-by-side for the first time (a little bit of a surprise for Hermione, as no other suitor had been allowed this same liberty thus far). She placed the box on her knees and threw him a nervous smile.

The moment the lid came off, something within the box began trilling happily. The sound was something between a purr and a sigh of pleasure. Hermione squeaked in surprise and nearly dropped the package on the floor. Fortunately, her suitor's reflexes were incredibly good, and he caught the box before it dumped onto the ground. He gently replaced it on her lap without censure.

"Wh-what is it?" she hesitantly asked, spying what appeared to be a light blue powder puff, about the size of the palm of her hand, sitting in the middle of the box. The thing – whatever it was – made that weird noise again, and this time, it vibrated as well. A strange suspicion took root in her mind, as she realized that this creature was the evidence that The Dragon was presenting regarding their last discussion. She thought back to that night, and fit the pieces together. "Is that a-? Oh, surely _not!_" With rounded gaze, she glanced up into those sparkling grey eyes, seeking confirmation.

Within the man's twitching smile she found her answer. "Dare not to doubt me ever again, my lovely."

Hermione turned back to the trembling, tiny ball of fluff. "I thought… I was _sure_ that Puffskeins were simply a fairytale. It did not seem possible that something so… well, so _adorable_ could exist naturally." She licked her lips nervously. "Can I touch it?"

The Dragon let out an amused laugh, and she realized that she liked that sound very much. "It's yours. You can do anything you want with it." He sat back against the only cushioned corner of the settee. "Puffskeins usually are custard-colored, and they only live three years, but this one is the rarest of its kind, specially bred to live for ten years. He's a male, a few months old, and although he was the runt of the litter, he was the only one able to change the color of his fur with his moods."

Hermione gasped. "A metamorph?" She reached in and scooped up the small thing and held it aloft, near her nose. Instantly, the color of the fur changed to a light pink and it trilled again. "How… oh, how _wonderful!_" She wiggled a finger over it, rubbing against its fur. The color changed again to red and the vibration against her hand increased, and she giggled without restraint at the ticklish sensation it evoked along her skin. "He is simply amazing!"

"_You're_ simply amazing."

At his low, meaningful tone, she glanced over at the man sitting to her right, and the look in his solemn, silvery eyes spoke tomes. He was clearly becoming attached to her - as much as she was to him. _This is a dangerous game you're playing_, her inner voice of reason spoke up, and Hermione dropped her gaze from her suitor, turning her attentions back onto her new pet. She reminded herself that she couldn't afford to let herself feel anything but a sort of friendship for any of her beaus – _especially_ this one - because to care more than that, she risked having her heart broken.

_It is all make-believe, Hermione_, she reminded herself. _This can not be real._

But then, hadn't she'd said the same thing about the Puffskein?

**X~~~~~X**

As he watched his lovely turn her attention back onto her new discovery, Draco found himself riveted by this woman's beauty and sincerity. He could see it even in her retreat just a moment ago that she was reluctant to pull away from him; and her understood why on both counts. He knew she was worried of forming an attachment to him, and he knew she was schooling herself to prevent such a happenstance, despite wanting it as eagerly as he.

Something within Draco called out to her in that moment. Some deep-seeded, hungry, desperate need to claim her as his alone pulled at him at the same time as the need to hear her laugh more, and to watch a smile light up her face again and again, and most especially to arrange it at last so she would never worry about giving him her heart. Because, he realized, she owned half of his already, and it would only be a matter of time before the rest was handed over to her willingly.

He was falling in love with her.

Swallowing his emotions back, he attempted to perfect calm. It wouldn't do to scare or push her at this juncture, not when he was clearly earning his way into her deeper affections. He held out the small jeweler's pouch for her to deflect the awkward moment. "There's still the matter of your actual gift, Princess," he interrupted her play with the now lavender-colored puff in her palms (it performed like a chameleon already for its owner, matching her dress, he noted… she'd only had the thing for a matter of minutes, and it had clearly bonded to her, which was an amazing feat).

Very carefully placing the Puffskein down on her lap, she accepted the pouch into her hand as he passed it over. "You need not have done this, as Pyg was more than gift enough."

Draco felt his eyebrow arch under the mask. "Pyg?"

She blinked and smiled. "The name came to me a moment ago - short for Pygmy. You _did_ say he was the smallest of his siblings."

He felt the laugh escape him before he was even cognizant of giving an honest response. "Pyg… A perfect name, indeed, for he eats quite a bit!" She looked as if to ask him more, but he cut her off, already knowing the next question. "Open the bag and I'm sure all of your questions will be answered."

"As you wish," his Princess conceded easily, and the sound of her willing acquiescence to one of his requests made Draco's stash in his trousers jerk in reaction. Would she sound thus when he told her to touch him or put her mouth upon his body? He whole-heartedly believed she would.

Drawing open the string, his woman once more looked into a bag he'd given her before actually sticking her hand in (a very smart, Slytherin-like action, he commended silently). "Is there an Undetectable Extensions Charm on this bag?" she asked, automatically recognizing the powerful bit of magic, her voice echoing into the cavernous abyss of blackness. "However will I retrieve your gift if I do not know what to call up?"

He pursed his lips to keep from snickering at the exasperation in her tone. "Ask for 'my book.'"

Trusting him again, his lovely did as instructed and she withdrew the book he had left for her inside the bag earlier. Turning it over in her hands, she laughed out loud without modesty or restraint – and Draco was extremely pleased by the response. "'How To Care For Your Magical Creature: A Guide To Puffskein Training, Feeding, and Breeding,'" she read the title aloud, grinning and shaking her head. "How is it that everyone else in the world seems to have known that Puffskeins were real except me?"

Draco shrugged, deciding not to tease her too badly over the point. "To be fair, Princess, the guide is written by the same family who sold me your pet, and they are very selective in their distribution of the animals. Only a handful of people outside of their ancestral circle can boast to owning one of the things."

She gathered Pyg back up in one hand, and pressed the book against her chest with the other. "This… my Dragon, thank you. _Truly_, thank you." She looked back with sincere fondness at the now green-colored (Draco approved heartily) cooing, little creature. "I have been lonely since my long-term familiar passed earlier this year. I believe Pyg will cheer me immensely and help me to heal from that loss." She brought the thing back up towards her nose and nuzzled it, causing it to break out into a trill of intense bliss (and for it to shift colors again, this time morphing snow white). "In truth, I have already fallen under his spell."

_As I have yours_, Draco thought, watching her with his heart in his throat.

**X~~~~~X**

The evening with her silver-eyed Dragon passed much too swiftly for Hermione's tastes. They sat and enjoyed evening tea and scrumptious, delicate _petite fours _while seated at the table overlooking the rose garden. The summer sun had set its horizon only near the very end of the visit, forcing _Madame_ Sinistra to summon up a golden globe of candlelight for them to see by. It hardly mattered, however, for they sat so close together – barely a knee's width apart – that they could see and hear each other perfectly, and for the first time, Hermione had an opportunity to really scent her suitor's cologne – a subtle citrus blend, light sandalwood, with a touch of night blooming rose. It intoxicated the senses, drawing her in as close as she dared.

They spoke of childhood memories that revealed a teasing picture of what their earlier lives had been like; still not enough for them to know each other's identities outside of the House walls, however. She learned that both of his parents had died when he'd been a young man of sixteen, and that his favorite memory of his mother was from his eleventh birthday, when he'd woken up on Christmas morning and found her sitting in her favorite reading chair in front of a roaring hearth, their Yule tree all magically lit up behind her. He'd recalled how the room had smelled of cinnamon and evergreen and her morning spiced tea, and she was wearing a beautiful velvet red dress. She'd been a vision of refinement and loveliness, he'd said with a glowing smile, and she could see the love he'd felt for the woman reflected in his sad eyes.

She thought she understood the silver teardrop on his mask now.

She'd shared with him her first memory of Crookshanks, her half-breed kneazle: how he'd actually reached out to grab her from between the bars of his cage as she'd made to pass. She'd only gone into _Magical Menagerie_ that day curious, but not intending on really buying a familiar. Her eventual choice had been a full adult by then, and the pet shop owner had tried to warn her off from his purchase, claiming the cat-like creature was badly tempered and not half as smart as a kneazle should be. Still, Hermione's heart had caved at the sight of Crookshanks' pug-nosed face, and she'd purchased him immediately. It had been, she insisted, one of the best decisions she'd ever made, as the animal had been loyal and faithful to her all through her school years, and later, after. However, because she'd procured him at the age of five, her time with him had been substantially shortened.

Reaching down into her lap as she'd spoken of her past, she'd stroked Pyg, who seemed to intuitively know she was a bit sad, and so actually reached out that long, weird tongue of his and licked her hand, purring for her the whole time. He really was a tiny, miraculous thing!

When she'd finally gotten up to escort her 'date' to the door as their time had come to a close, she'd left Pyg in Aurora's capable hands and reluctantly walked with her suitor to the exit, wishing there were a way to prolong their time together for even a few minutes more. As she reached for the handle, his hand pressed lightly over hers, and once again, that magical flare flowed into her, this time less of a spark and more of an enticing wave that shot straight between her legs, causing her to moisten instantly. He brought her fingers to his mouth for a goodbye kiss, turning his full attention upon her.

Merlin's beard, had he always been so tall?

"Will you see me again?" he asked, almost an entreaty, letting his lips dance across the skin on the back of her knuckles, the desire in his eyes holding onto her thoroughly.

Hermione nodded without hesitation. "Yes. I will have Aurora owl you our next appointment information tonight."

That smile of his lit up her heart, as he pressed another round of small kisses to her knuckles, again taking liberties that no other suitor had thus far dared. "I shall not sleep until I receive your mistress' note," he promised sincerely, and Hermione felt her heart flutter again. Dropping her hand, he bowed deeply once to Sinistra across the room, and turned to go. He got as far as the first step outside her door before quickly sticking his head back around the wood. "Did you remember to wear something green for me again tonight?" he asked as an afterthought, his wicked smile showing more teeth than was polite.

Maneuvering herself so Aurora would not see, keeping her back to the House Madam, she made a production of pointing at her earrings (she'd purposefully chosen emeralds to wear for this specific occasion), while at the same time pulled the single strap of her dress just a tad to the side, allowing him to see the green ribbon she'd tied and hidden underneath. "Yes, these, _just for you_," she daringly flirted, emphasizing the last so he would understand.

Eyes burning a little brighter with desire for her, his nostrils flaring a bit, The Dragon stared into her very soul, causing her stomach to flip and her pulse to course with excitement. "What an enchanting embellishment, my lovely." He licked his lips, making Hermione's body tingle at the imagining uses for his tongue. "Your creativity continually amazes and intrigues me."

With that parting shot, he was gone, the door closing quietly behind him.

**X~~~~~X**

_**Blaise Zabini's Townhouse - Brighton, England **_

_**June 14, 1815 (Wednesday)**_

As soon as he'd cleared _La Cerise's_ walls (after removing his mask, of course), Draco Apparated over to Blaise's townhouse in Brighton, his friend's familial primary residence while in England. The wards surrounding the three story townhouse recognized him and allowed him entrance to the front step, where he rang the bell excitedly. One of the house elves admitted him seconds later, and went to fetch the Master, while Draco paced with boundless energy to and fro in the front sitting room.

"I take it your interview went well?" his friend's droll question came from the doorway. The man was in a blue satin dressing robe, his dark, hairless chest peeking through the 'v' of the fabric's gap, his hands shoved into the front pockets. Obviously, he'd been settled for bed.

"Asleep already?" Draco smirked, looking at the timepiece above the room's mantle. It was barely nine-thirty. "You're turning into an old hen, Zabini."

His friend sauntered smoothly across the room to the trestle table and poured both himself and Draco some Firewhiskey (undoubtedly aged, smooth and rather expensive) from an Italian crystal decanter. With glasses in hand, he indicated his friend to take a seat on one of the velvet upholstered couches in front of the fire (which the elf had set to warm the room when they'd entered earlier). "So, I take it she liked her gift?" his best friend asked, leaning back into the cushions and crossing his legs elegantly, the fine, black satin pajama pants he wore making a soft, wispy noise as he moved.

Draco nodded, sipping from his glass, sitting on the edge of the sofa, too alive at the moment to settle yet. "She was enamored of the little fluffball; named it Pyg, short for Pygmy, because of its diminutive size." He shook his head, grinning as the utter fool he knew himself to be. "The thing was as in love with her. It changed colors no less than five times in the first hour alone. I could feel its purring in the marrow of my bones."

Blaise was silent, watching him, measuring him. He could feel the calculating mind behind his friend's skull adding up the facts quickly, coming to what was probably the correct conclusion. For once, Draco didn't mind being so obvious or easily read. "You're invited back, then?"

He nodded. "Her owl will arrive tonight with further instructions." His lips twisted into a wry smile. "I'm wondering how to top these two gifts the next time around. The standard has been set rather high." That was his Slytherin way of subtly requesting ideas; he knew Blaise would understand, being his House Brother, and all.

"I may have a few thoughts on that, if you're interested," the other wizard hedged, knowing the game and playing appropriately.

Staring off into the magically lit flames, Draco swallowed another hardy mouthful of liquid courage before proceeding. "After the auction, I intend on pursuing her."

Blaise nodded. "I'd assumed so. You seem taken with the chit."

"She enchants me," Draco admitted slowly, feeling the alcohol begin to work its own brand of charm upon him, loosening his reserve. "Every morsel revealed tempts me, encourages me to know more. I feel as a potions addict, might; she's become my opiate of choice."

A dark chuckled rolled from his best friend's lips as the man bent to finish off his drink with one daring pull. Dark, chocolate eyes glittered as they stared into the empty container, a mocking smile twisting his plump lips. "I know the feeling."

Draco knew better than to impolitely ask the question that hovered in the back of his mind; Blaise was a private man with his emotions, generally, but where _Le Renard Rouge_ was concerned, it seemed his friend was as equally pulled as Draco was for The Princess. And yet, some things were just never asked aloud, only volunteered, so it was that he kept his questions – and his opinions – regarding Zabini's red-headed paramour locked tightly behind his tongue.

**X~~~~~X**

_**Malfoy Manor - Wiltshire, England **_

_**June 14, 1815 (Wednesday)**_

He left Blaise at ten minutes to ten after agreeing to accept the man's help in procuring his next present for his Cyprian interest, Apparating home immediately. As he stepped into his private chambers, an owl's scratch at his window interrupted his undressing. The beauteous Crested Owl carried a small letter in its claws, and gliding in soundlessly when he opened the glass pane for it. It landed on the nearby, open Bargueño desk and waited patiently for him.

Aurora's invitation was for the following Saturday, the 24th, from ten p.m. until midnight. Blast, he'd have to go ten whole days before he could see his lovely again! The only advantage he could see to such a long wait was the additional time he would have to consider her next gift; it would have to be something truly unique and awe-inspiring if he wished to capture the heart of the woman he wanted. At least he would have the breathing room to brainstorm with such a long engagement.

Quickly penning a confirmation of the receipt of the invitation and an acceptance of the schedule, Draco called a house elf to assure the owl received some meat for a treat before sending it on its way with all alacrity.

Hopping naked into his bed that night, he closed his eyes and imagined his lovely again. The ribbon she'd hidden inside the fold of her strap had trailed off into the crevice of her bosom; from his height, he'd had a good peek. Those luscious globes of golden flesh had been revealed to his view for just a moment as she'd lowered the fabric oh-so-slightly, and now he took that memory and made it fantasy, going further as his hand began stroking over his steel flesh below, working himself up in minutes.

He'd visualized her leaning over him, taking him in her mouth, parting those sassy, teasing lips of hers with his cock, thrusting into her warm, wet cavern and down her throat. This was something he was going to teach her when he won the auction as well. The thought of guiding her actions with gentle hands and low voice, of touching her bared flesh, of being her first lover in _all ways_ brought him quickly. When he shouted out for her, feeling his seed explode across his abdomen and chest in hot spurts, he'd actually arched his back off the mattress and nearly bitten his tongue clean through.

After, lying in a thin sheen of his own perspiration, panting to regain breath, Draco realized that ten days without a glimpse of his brunette beauty quite possibly might be the haunt of him. He'd already gone nearly a fortnight without the touch of a woman; visions of his Princess had tantalized him at every turn since her introduction, making it impossible for him to find another as desirable. Unfortunately, he was beginning to feel the strain of his self-imposed abstinence. It was becoming increasingly difficult to concentrate on his investments, specifically the assurance that his fleet of spicing vessels trading with the Orient was managed appropriately by sober dock bosses and competent crews (he'd lost a ship not nine months previous to a giant sea serpent somewhere in the vicinity of the Madeira Islands, and another two months later to the siren's call of mermaids around the Cape of Good Hope). He needed to refocus and discipline himself better, just until the auction.

Which meant he'd have to take care of his mounting sexual frustration in the only manner available: by his own self-inducement. The idea of calling upon the Ice Queen, Aster, to ease his suffering made him ill. He was sure, by now, the woman must have guessed the reason for his absence from her bed, anyway, and had begun preparing the way for a new man to warm her coffers – perhaps even one of the rejected suitors of the Princess. They were welcome to the wench, as far as he was concerned.

Reaching for his wand, he cleaned up his mess, and then rolled over, his face pressed into his pillow, and closed his eyes to the vision of his lovely's smiling face, as she nuzzled her silly new pet's ermine white fur with her nose.

**X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X**

_**La Cerise – Diagon Alley, London, England**_

_**June 15, 1815 (Thursday)**_

Aurora Sinistra fiddled nervously with her mask as she sat, waiting in her office – a side attached area off of her private sitting room, hidden behind a servant's wall panel. She readjusted the quills, stationery and ink on her desk once again, then sat back in her velvet cushioned chair and sipped at the cooling tea on the saucer before her. Glancing up at the clock on the wall, she noted the time: one 'til nine. In another minute, the owner of _La Cerise_ would walk through her doors and demand his semi-annual update as to the status of the house take and properties contained therein – including the women. She was excited to tell her absentee boss of the auction that would surely net a huge profit for them (and increase her reputation world-wide as _The_ Madam of the industry).

Just as she put her delicate china cup down, the panel swung open and in stalked the tall, powerful presence of her 'handler' – head to toe, literally, in black. Without being invited or mouthing the proper platitudes, his robed and cowled figure silently took the seat across from the Abbess with supreme arrogance. He crossed his long legs and folded his leather gloved hands nonchalantly across his lap, sitting as still as a statue, per his usual protocol (he absolutely _never_ fiddled with the silver, intricately etched mask that covered his entire face, nor with the hood of his wizard's cloak that covered up his head fully - both of which she was sure were magicked firmly in place anyway). It was always thus with the man, who preferred anonymity, she suspected as a mean of control.

"We have little time today," he coldly stated, very business-like, his voice typically, magically augmented so as to throw her off even further. "I'll get right to the point: how does my House fare, Lady?"

Clearing her throat once, they got down to the particulars, since it was apparent that her manager was in no mood (from his tone and posture) for play today. She informed him of the accounting for the last six months, turned over all slips of deposit into the house's account at _Gringotts_ as proof, and let him know of the health of the women and the contentment of the clients. He was nodded a few times in approval. She then explained the upcoming virginity auction, a smile of excitement lighting her face. "She is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. Graceful, stylish, inquisitive about sexuality, incredibly intelligent and witty, and an extremely powerful witch. She has our men falling all over themselves for her attention. And the number of her suitors – it is the highest any woman has ever received in history, not just from this house, but all across Europe. The only woman in the same arena would have been our last auctionette, three decades ago. I believe this one – whom I call _La Princesse_ - will net for us a handsome profit and make _La Cerise_ the home for such business in the future, my Lord."

The man was silent a moment, and then nodded again in approval. "The suitors... I assume you're keeping their money flowing in even during the excitement of the vendition?"

Sinistra nodded and turned over the handwritten list she had made just prior to this meeting of all of the suitors and their semi-annual revenue chain to the House. He perused it silently for many minutes, as it contained not only the aliases of the men, but also their real names, titles (when applicable), and the business they or their families conducted, as well as the names of the women they frequented. "Most of the sons of the best aristocracy - the cultured and lettered. Yes, an excellent net, Aurora."

Madam Sinistra bowed her head gracefully and blushed at the compliment. "It is the _crème de la crème_ of the _beau monde_, _Monsieur_. We are all very excited by such a showing."

Her smile slipped a bit upon his next question, however.

"And the woman's pedigree?"

It was asked dispassionately, but Aurora knew she must tread lightly now, for _La Cerise's_ one unique standing in society was that it catered to only to the wizarding pure stock, at the insistence of the proprietor, and despite all of The Princess' perfections, this was her one failing; she was not of such a bloodline. Thankfully, The Madam had prepared in advance should such a failing be inquired upon or accidentally revealed. "She is of the noblest of lineage. Her father's ancestry hails from the last of the Austrian House of Hapsburg directly. She is the only great-grandchild of the Archduchess Maria Anna and Prince Charles Alexander of Lorraine."

Her patron seemed to consider that very carefully. "The Archduchess died during childbirth and her son was stillborn."

Aurora smiled slightly. The man knew his Muggle history well. She shook her head. "A rumor meant to protect the _bébé _from Prussian assassins, whom the Austrians were fighting for their succession at the time. The boy was stashed off to London after his birth by the Archduchess' midwife at the behest of his dying mother to keep him secret and safe." Reaching into a secret compartment within the folds of her desk, the Abbess waved her wand to reveal a series of documents, which she turned over to her Lord. "These verify the boy's heritage – a last testament by the midwife, the Archduchess' Lady-in-Waiting and signed by Maria Anna herself, sealed by her ring. The midwife kept them in a vault in _Gringotts' _Bern offices." Here she sighed, for the tale was truly, in her opinion, a sad one. "Unfortunately, the midwife raised the child without knowledge of his exceptional circumstances, in her family's lower-income tradition as far away from his homeland as she could reasonable escape, and she died when the boy was ten, never revealing his magnificent history to him. He lived a rather ordinary life, married a woman of merchant-class background, had a son, and died never knowing his true destiny. His son has likewise lived in such an upbringing. The man and his wife currently live in Godalming in Surrey, as practicing tooth chirurgeons. The daughter – our Princess – she knows nothing of her heritage, either." She sighed heavily again. "I procured this," she indicated the documents in her superior's hands, "after a thorough background check on the girl, hiring three of the best investigators on the continent to hound out her past. I am unsure if it would be appropriate now to tell the witch of her family's history, for the Hapsburgs are currently out of favor, thanks in part to my countryman, Bonaparte, and his sweeping _Révolution_."

There was a significant pause. The man was still and silent for so long that the sweat beaded in the crevice of Aurora's cleavage and above her lip. She hoped he would not read between the lines, as it were, and see her ruse for what it had represented: an artful dodge to his unspoken question about her wizarding blood purity.

"Very well, my Lady. But I want the suitor known as 'The Dragon' eliminated from the bidding," the man stated dispassionately, firmly.

Aurora blinked in confused surprise, the first time she'd allowed an expression to pass her face that was not calculated in a long time. "But, _Monsieur_, why?"

The man tossed the list back onto her desk without another look, and began gathering himself to leave. "Because I said so."

The Madam's mind whirled for an excuse to keep one of the best prospects in the running. It was clear that whatever was happening between young Lord Draco and _Mademoiselle_ Hermione was drawing their feelings closer. She even believed there to be love in their union should he win the auction. Such a man would pay _anything_ to have his heart's desire. And his enthusiasm would drive the competition.

She needed to temporarily stall the removal of the one suitor who might necessarily drive the bidding into fantastical heights (and thereby line her pockets nicely for retirement, as the House Madam took a quarter of the final bid's take for her efforts).

A plan came to her in a flash of brilliance.

"The Dragon is good for driving the auction," she pled her case from a purely business point of view, something she knew her patron – a man she'd dealt with for ten years now – would appreciate. "He is fiercely competitive, and the other suitors are clearly jealous of him. The power struggle between these men has finally reached the ears of the newspapers. Tongues are wagging. With all of the pure-blood males hovering about, it has attracted the attention of pure-blood, unwed daughters, both at home and abroad. I have received three applications alone this week from women seeking entrance to the House. We should at least allow him to continue for the competition he stirs up. He is as the hornet in a bee's nest."

A firm shake of the dark cowled head. "I do not want the man winning."

With a nonchalant shrug of her dainty shoulders, Aurora appeared unaffected. "So he will not win. We will assure that. But, he can act as an excellent shill. His presence as a candidate will drive the others into a bidding frenzy and make _La Cerise_ the unprecedented _chateau de l'amour_ in the world for pure-blood families."

Her director seemed to consider her proposal, again sitting silently for long minutes, unmoving. "You guarantee his elimination?"

The Madam nodded assuredly. "As you wish, so it will be done."

More awkward silence followed, in which Aurora worried her plan would be rejected, but to her immense relief, her manager simply nodded once more. "I trust you to see it through, _Madame_." Unwinding those long limbs and standing, the surreptitious owner of _La Cerise_ made to leave just as quickly as he'd come. At the panel exit, he paused, however, one gloved hand resting on the peach-trimmed wall board. "I will appear for the final auction to assure your success, Aurora," he practically growled. "I hope I am not disappointed in any fashion." In a flurry of black Severian-colored robes, the man left and the panel slid shut behind him.

In her seat, the Madam sat back and exhaled sharply, one trembling hand reaching up and resting on her throat's fluttering pulse, knowing she'd passed a major hurtle. The largest one remaining before her, however - how to adequately plan a way to disqualify _Monsieur_ Dragon at the last moment - was going to take some intense scheming.

She knew just the right person to discuss the issue with.

Making her way across the House, into the working quarters on the second floor, Aurora stopped at the second to last door on the left and knocked. The man known as Raven - a disqualified suitor of The Princess - answered, his coat across his arm indicating he had completed his business with his paramour of choice for the day and was on his way out. He bowed politely to the Abbess before sauntering past, and Aurora entered, shutting the door behind her, waving her wand quickly to bespell privacy wards in place.

The room smelled heavily of sex and a strong lavender perfume, the large, four-postered bed was rumpled heavily, and a discarded pair of restraints lay on the floor. Finding her intended target standing before her vanity mirror, slipping a silken Oriental robe over her small, pale, bird-like frame, the House Madam waited to be addressed by the room's sole occupant and current renter. The biting viciousness predictably didn't take long to manifest.

"How can I help you today, Whore Mother?"

"I have need of your ear, Aster," Madam Sinistra got right to the point, not wanting to waste another minute. "And of that devious, sweet mind of yours."

Astoria Greengrass - the woman known as Aster - sneered openly, her attractive, doll-like face becoming uglied and grotesque by the expression. "And what makes you think I'd want to help _you_ in any way? It's because of your damned auction that I've lost my chance at a husband - a rich, well-hung, sexually expert, very politically-connected one whom I was quite fond of at that. You've relegated me to the dregs again, you greedy bitch."

Aurora controlled her temper for the moment, knowing she only needed Aster to help her carry out her plan. After the auction was over, she intended on kicking the woman to the curb, where her kind belonged, however. A common Barber's Chair had no place in a house of beauty, like _La Cerise_. Let the wench earn her living with the street coveys, for all the Madam cared.

"What would it take to help me assure that _Monsieur_ Dragon does not win this auction without anyone finding out about the duplicity?" she asked calmly, focusing on the main goal, waiting for the inevitable response from the likes of someone as ruthless and malicious as Aster.

"Two thousands galleons," the cheap pinchcock smirked viciously, her blue eyes twinkling with vengeful mirth. "And that's just for coming up with a viable plan. If you want me to become more... directly involved... well, that will cost you extra, of course."

Aurora nodded in complete understanding. "Oh, of course, _Chérie_... of course."

* * *

_**TO BE CONTINUED...**_

_**

* * *

**_

**AUTHOR'S NOTES: **

**TO SEE ANY OF THE URLs I'VE PROVIDED, REMEMBER TO TAKE OUT ALL SPACES. THIS IS THE ONLY WAY TO POST URLs ON THIS WEBSITE, FOR SOME REASON.**

**A fascinating look at Dental Hygiene during the Regency Era: http:/ janeaustensworld . wordpress . com / 2009 / 07 / 21 / dental-hygiene-in-the-regency-period.**

**An excellent guide to the types of fabrics for clothing that were around and utilized during the Regency Era: http:/ www . songsmyth . com / fabric . html**

**Lacuna**** = Not just the first half of the name of an Italian Goth Rock band formed in 1994 ('Lacuna Coil'), but in actuality, a 19th century British slang term for the vaginal canal. Lacuna literally means 'a gap or a missing part' or 'a hollow cavity.'**

**Backdoor**** = 19th century British slang for the anus.**

"**Lynceus" ****and**** "Idas"**** = Greek mythological twin brothers. In this story, they represent Fred and George Weasley, obviously (the redheaded twin part should have given it away).**

"**Angel"**** = The lovely Angelina Johnson in this fic (who, if you'll recall, was involved with Fred Weasley prior to the war, then married George Weasley after).**

**Ménage a trois = ****French for "household of three."Originally described a domestic arrangement in which three people having sexual relations occupy the same household. It was later extended to refer to the actual sexual act between three people, otherwise known as a "threesome."**

**Queynte**** = Old English (Chaucer's time) for the word 'vagina'; spelled in modern days as 'cunt.'**

**Hampton**** = 19th Century British slang term for a penis.**

**Gladius**** = The Latin word for 'penis' or 'sword.'**

**Ring**** = Also known as "Carvel's ring," an Old English reference to a vagina. In a poem from 1230 a jealous old doctor named Carvel dreamed the Devil gave him a ring that would prevent his wife from being unfaithful as long as he wore it. Carvel 's wife woke him with the complaint "You've thrust your finger God knows where!" **

**Ane**** = 17th Century British slang term for the anus.**

**Jocale Witchery**** = Something I made up for my various fanfics. Jocale is literally the art of gems (appraising, cutting, mounting and setting them). I simply made Jocale Witchery a type of rare magical talent that allows the crafter to imbue the gems they've cut with magical properties (each gem type – ruby, diamond, quartz, opal, tiger's eye, etc. - is good for augmenting or cancelling out magic, and the metal its set in can further augment or dampen the effects of the gem). In my fics, being a Jocale Witch/Wizard is like being an Animagus or a Potions Master in JKR's world – it takes innate talent and isn't very common. **

**Did the Minister's kneazle catch your tongue? ****= A popular saying in the early 1800's in England was to refer to the local Minister's cat as having captured or prevented a person's ability to speak (to apparently prevent them from spilling any secrets they may know; an American version of this idiomatic expression is "Has the cat got your tongue?"). It was a running joke from the mid-1700's and up to today that a person's confession is always held secret by at least two individuals: the Minister the confession was told to and his cat, whom he shared his private quarters with (where most confessions were made when people called on the local Vicar). This light-hearted 19th century proverb harkens back to a much darker superstition, however – specifically the Medieval belief that cats were the familiars of witches, and that they were granted the power by their owners to "capture" your tongue when you went to report the witch to the local constabulary or to the Church. In this case, I "wizarded up" the saying by using a kneazle, which (as all good HP fans know) is an animal that is a "small catlike creature" that can "interbreed with cats" (from ****Fantastical Beasts & Where To Find Them****). FYI: Crookshanks, Hermione's cat, was part-kneazle, JKR confirmed.**

**Diamond of the first water**** = Regency Era slang for a very beautiful woman. From the term used for the jewel meaning a diamond of the best color and most brilliant luster.**

**Pygmalion and Galatea**** = Pygmalion is a legendary figure of Cyprus from Ovid's ****Metamorphoses****. He was a sculptor who fell in love with a statue of a beautiful woman that he had carved out of ivory. For the festival of Venus (the Roman Goddess of Love), Pygmalion made offerings to the Goddess and made a wish to change the statue into a real woman. When he returned home, Cupid (the Roman God of Love), who was sent by Venus (she was moved by Pygmalion's wish), had granted Pygmalion's wish and changed the cold statue into a living woman, who was then given the name Galatea. A ring was put on Galatea's finger - Cupid's ring which made love achieved, and a happy Pygmalion took her as wife.**

**Queen Hera**** = Reference to the goddess wife of Zeus, King of the Olympian Gods in Greek mythology.**

**Oui, ma reine****? = French for "Yes, my Queen?" (in the sense asking if Sinistra – the Queen - agrees with Draco's proposal).**

**Oui, mon Dragon. ****= French for "Yes, my Dragon." **

**Draco is wearing a cologne known as "4711 Cologne" by Muelhens. This blend is based on a formula made by a French émigré friar, and was named after the house number assigned to the Mulhens Family perfumery's shop during the 1794 French occupation of the city, Cologne. Napoleon Bonaparte used to bathe in a diluted version of this scent. It is the oldest, continuously unchanged recipe for cologne in the world, at the time it was one of the most expensive (today, not expensive at all though), and is said to smell of citrus oils, sandalwood and very, very lightly of night blooming rose (it's a masculine scent with a touch of feminine so as not to offend the nostrils, but entice).**

**Cyprian interest ****= Regency Era reference to a woman of who gives sexual favors in exchange for payment; a mistress or courtesan. Named for the island of Cyprus, famous for the worship of Aprhrodite, goddess of love.**

**Crème de la crème**** = French for "Creamiest of the Cream," alluding to the best of something.**

**Beau monde**** = French for "beautiful life," which is a phrase often used to refer to the richest peoples in society (because they can afford to buy themselves a beautiful, carefree life).**

**Bebè ****= French for "baby."**

**Tooth chirurgeons**** = Archaic term for 'dentists.'**

**Révolution**** = French for "revolution." After an exhaustive campaign, the French General Napoleon Bonaparte dissolved the Holy Roman Empire, of which the Hapsburg Dynasty were the last.**

**Shill ****= A shill bid is one that is not a serious bid, but one that is placed to intentionally drive the price of the item up. Can be used as a noun, as in someone who places shill bids on auctions.**

**Chateau de l'amour**** = French for "Castle of Love."**

**Barber's Chair ****= A rather foul, archaic way of saying the woman is a common whore, because anyone can sit in her (like a Barber's Chair) for cheap.**

**Street coveys ****= British slang term for a collection of homeless whores who rent out hotel rooms by the hour. The slang is still in use today.**

**Pinchcock**** = British slang for a prostitute. The slang is still in use today.**

**Chérie ****= French for "cute one/likeable one/adorable one."**


	4. Ch 4: If You Knew How Much I Love You

_**CHAPTER FOUR: "SI TU SAVAIS COMMENT JE T'AIME, TOI AUSSI TU DOIS M'AIMER…" **_

_**Diagon Alley - London, England **_

_**June 19, 1815 (Monday afternoon & evening)**_

Hermione awoke sometime after the noontime hour, having gone to bed around two the evening before. Last week's rounds had worn her out, but thankfully, she'd been able to eliminate even more prospects (Irish, Maxsee, Four, Loc, Chef, and Brun, leaving just thirteen men remaining), so that her schedule this week wouldn't be quite so hectic. She had two days off until the Wednesday appointments started up - two blissful days! – and she intended on enjoying them fully.

Since she could not leave the confines of the grounds until after the auction had ended, per the contract she'd signed with the House, she decided to use today to relax, catch up on correspondence, perhaps spend some time with her new friend, _Le Renard Rouge_, and do some private reading. She hadn't written to Harry or her parents in two weeks because of the grueling schedule she'd been keeping, and she'd only had time to skim her book on Puffskein caretaking briefly.

Just thinking of her little familiar made a smile creep along her cheeks unwittingly. Reaching over onto the soft, down pillow she'd set-up next to hers on the bed, Hermione found Pyg still sawing logs (she now knew the difference between his snoring, his snorting, and his trilling by the pitch – a low sound meant he was asleep, medium meant he was upset for some reason, and high meant he was happy). Tickling his fur with a fingertip, she leaned her head over and blew hot air on him, speaking gently. "Pyg, my sweet, time to wake up!"

Almost immediately, the sensitive, little ball of fluff began trilling and he changed color – a light purple, indicating he was feeling both serene and loved at the same time. Over the past five days, she'd had time to suss out his moods, and determined what she thought was the correct color coding for his feelings at any given time. "Good morning! May I pick you up now?" she asked her new friend. Crookshanks had disabused Hermione of her penchant to lift him whenever the fancy struck by simply sticking one filthy paw on her chin and pushing every time she hauled him into her arms. She stopped taking for granted that caring for a pet meant its custodian had any rights to assault its person anytime she wished relatively quickly the first few weeks after obtaining him as a result, and so now asked Pyg before assuming anything. Additionally, because he was so small, she didn't want to hurt him; she wasn't sure exactly how fragile he might be, honestly, so it was better to prepare the itty bitty thing for being touched rather than take it unawares.

Changing color to pink – meaning he was amenable to her desires – Hermione tenderly took Pyg up into her hands and rubbed her cheek against him in their regular morning greet. "I have so much to do today around here. Will you be fine on your own? Are you hungry?" This was becoming a regular conversation with them. The one fact she'd learned from the book The Dragon had gifted her was that Puffskeins could eat just about anything small enough that their long, whiplash tongue could wrap about and pull into their mouths (wherever that was - Hermione still couldn't find the opening, nor any eyes, ears or nose, for that matter), so she wasn't concerned that she'd have to dish up food for him. Instead, she was asking him if he wanted to be placed out on the balcony so he'd have access to the garden insects flying by. With another trill, Pyg informed her that he was, in fact, hungry for flies and gnats (yuck!), and so they followed the same routine they had for the past few days: she set him out on the back balcony's small tea table until his trilling became loud to tell her to bring him back in. That could be anywhere from an hour to several hours, depending upon how hot he got in the sun. She gave him a last, very gentle pet and then returned inside, closing the French doors behind.

The next thing she did was to take care of her own needs. She ordered up some light fare from the resident house elf assigned to her, a rather exuberant thing named Dobby. She'd befriended the extremely helpful (if not slightly emotionally unbalanced) creature soon after coming to the house by offering him pretty items that he could then gift to the little, female house elf, Winky (whom he was currently wooing). In return, he slipped her sinfully decadent caramels on occasion. It was a mutually beneficial arrangement, although her conscience chastised her to start watching her waistline better and cut back on the sweets some.

After taking her fast of an apple muffin, a small bowl of fresh berries in cream and a cup of very dark, spicy tea from the Orient, she hopped into a warm bubble bath, scenting the water with jasmine and orange blossom oils, and scrubbed up with a very special, limited edition citrus glycerin soap handcrafted by the famous Andrew Pears himself (a set of six such uniquely scented soaps was York's gift to her this last round; he claimed to know the soap miller personally and boasted that he'd helped the man derive the formula for these six specific scents)! She washed her hair last, and then lay back in the tub to enjoy the moment.

An hour later, pruned and wrinkled, Hermione finally hopped out. Tossing on a lounging robe over her frilly undergarments, she used a metal file to gentle shape her fingernails, then decided to try out a fashion the Abbess had sworn up and down was _nouveau chic_: lacquering her nails with a scented oil that was made from a combination of mashed Rose, Orchid and Impatiens petals combined with Alum. With the bottle (a gift from Aurora this last weekend), she now sat on her settee, with a towel supporting her feet, and tinted her toe nails first, then her fingernails, buffing them with a chamois cloth to a healthy, light pink shine and blowing on them until dry. The result was quite stunning, adding just a bit of color and luminescence to her nails, and she decided to re-apply this special formula the night of the auction.

By then, it was close to two o'clock, so Hermione sat down at her Tambour Writing Table and began her letter to Harry first. She explained in great detail the goings-on for the last few weeks, and although she knew he was forbidden from coming to the house until after the auction had completed (per the contract, as The Madam did not want her fiancée tainting the process in any way), she admitted her wish for his continued moral support in the form of more frequent letters, if possible. Having an old, trusted friend nearby would have been nice, as she really only knew a few of the women in the house in passing (she and _Le Renard Rouge_ – a slightly younger lady named Ginevra – had, just this weekend, begun an acquaintance when the pretty redhead approached her door with an offer of friendship and a gift of a gorgeous, Italian-styled hand-held fan), but also knowing that their friendship wouldn't change as a result of this awkward situation between them was equally as important.

Her parents were a bit more difficult to reach out to in the next letter, as she was still quite vexed with them for getting her into this disaster to begin with. She kept her letter cordial and polite, but did not divulge details (her parents knew of her plans, but she had bade them to mind their business in the affair, using their guilt in their part of this fiasco against them to wring a promise from them both to keep away). She inquired as to their health and the health of her grandmother, and let them know that she was well cared for, pampered in fact. There didn't seem to be much more to say after that, so she closed the letter with hopes for their continued happiness, ignoring the pang of sadness that gripped her as she signed the correspondence, her quill scratching sharply across the parchment.

Finally, she penned a note to her former House _Soeur_ from her school days, Fleur Delacoeur, who had moved to London as a result of the political upheavals in the Muggle world in her homeland of France. The woman had secured a fitting position at Gringotts Bank just prior to Hermione's self-imposed seclusion at _La Cerise_, and she inquired as to her enjoyment of the work, and whether there was, as of yet, any potential suitors for her friend's hand (she was sure there would be, as her lovely friend was a quarter Veela, and possessed not only beauty, but magical charms in which to capture a man). She closed the letter with sincere invocations for luck and much love.

Dobby kindly took her three secured epistles and assured they would be owl'd within the hour to their destinations. By then, it was going on four o'clock. The day was practically gone, she realized with some dismay. But then, her regularly enjoyed schedule (Hermione had always been an early riser and an early to bed type) had been turned on its ear when she'd begun this scheme, so now she was forced to keep strange hours, waking late in the afternoon and staying up until the early hours of the morning. It was disconcerting to think that at this time of the day, she was just coming up on her luncheon, not high tea.

Throwing on a plain muslin Morning Dress, a pair of silken, flat ballet slippers, her mask (which was required in the house, even behind closed doors) and waving her wand over her hair to tame the curls (but leaving it down and uncovered), she went to collect Pyg from off the balcony (to assure no predatory birds carried him off in her absence) and made her way to _Le Renard Rouge's_ room. She knocked lightly, not seeing the sign of engagement on the door to indicate she had a client, and waited. The redhead answered wearing a plain black leather mask, and a lounging dress and robe, her long, straight hair unbound as well.

"I wondered," Hermione began, a little shy, petting Pyg with nervous hands, "If you would like to take lunch?"

The woman's smile was meltingly sincere in its enthusiasm. "Of course! Come in, come in!" She grabbed Hermione's arm and jerked her into her bedroom with an impish grin, moving quickly enough to cause her to yelp in surprise. The door shut behind with a loud click and she was ushered towards the Grecian-styled, small settee in front of the bed to sit. "I'll call up Dobby to bring us some victuals."

The familiar pop of an elf Apparating in cracked through the small room, causing Hermione's ears to burst from the changing pressure. While Ginevra began ordering up their fare, Hermione set Pyg on her lap gently (he'd morphed three times in as many minutes, alternating between various shades of yellow and orange), and took the opportunity to again view this room, this time up close and personal.

The subtle chaotic nature of the decoration was intriguing to her well-ordered mind; no two pieces of furniture were alike or came from a matched set, and yet, it all meshed so appealingly together. In a way, the enclosed space gave her a rather intimate look into her new friend's personality, as one's "house" always reflected their true inner self, or so it was said.

The room was designed in the Georgian style, with elegant rectangular wall and ceiling paneling, but the embellishments were a mish-mosh of European flavor: an Italian, dark wooden bed frame was draped by velvet and silk curtains in a bold, bright gold and a rich chocolate brown color; a creamy French satin duvet with metallic, flaxen embroidery and rope hem lay neatly across the bed, which was lined by Sicilian silk screened scarlet, gold and cream pillows; Turkish brass candlestick lamps of varying design (all magically lit) sat on imported side tables made of stained cherry and walnut wood from America; the large area rug was Persian, thick and luxurious; the Russian-styled armoire stood in the opposite corner of the room, away from the bed, next to a wood carved, Chinese dressing screen and on the wall next to it, was the two-way mirror, affording an unimpeded view of the bed, in particular.

In a flash of memory, Hermione recalled the lovemaking session her new friend and her beau had engaged in just last week on that very bed and blushed profusely. Would her first time be so beautifully sensual? Or would it be closer to sinfully naughty and playful, as the twins and Angel had demonstrated? Her body hoped for the former, although her heart thought it wiser to keep things cooler than both expositions, fearing a painful, unintentional entanglement with the winning bidder of this auction.

As she stared at the wide, soft bed, lost in contemplation, sparkling, silver-grey eyes and a wicked smirk alighting full, kissable lips sprang into her thoughts without conscious summoning, and Hermione felt her temperature rise by several degrees as one particular fantasy that had been plaguing her lately haunted her once more… _Wide, strong shoulders and a smooth chest, bared and pale and roped with gleaming, tense muscle, move over her, bunching under her fingertips in a gentle rhythm matching his thrusting hips. Sliding her hands up around his neck, she grips his soft, platinum hair in her hands and holds on tightly, crying out for him to kiss her, touch her, never to stop, even as his body joins hers, retreats, and returns to fill her back up again and again…_

Ginevra's knowing snicker broke into Hermione's thoughts, instantly recalling her to the present, making her embarrassment soar to new heights.

"Which one?" her new, animated friend snooped playfully. "I know that look, so it's no use denying it. You were thinking of one of the suitors. Which one of those gorgeous men has your heart racing so honestly?"

Hermione bit her lip and absently, distractedly petted Pyg (who was glowing pink and vibrating with what seemed like amused laughter, although he made no chuckling noises or trilled). She was unsure of how much she could divulge. There wasn't any clause in her contract that prevented her from telling this woman anything about her past or her feelings towards the auction and its participants; only between she and the suitors was such knowledge forbidden to share. And, after all, Ginevra had been forthright in giving up her true name – given and surname, both - to Hermione the first time they'd properly chatted (although Hermione had not returned the act of goodwill yet, afraid that it might get her into trouble with Madam Sinistra – who informed her later that she was free to speak of such things to Ginevra, as every woman there was held to a strict confidentiality agreement with not only clients, but each other). Still, though, she hesitated.

As if they were tied to the same thought, the lovely redhead gasped, losing her teasing expression all together, putting a hand on Hermione's knee familiarly. "I apologize. Perhaps you can't talk about such things because of the particulars of your contract? I hadn't considered that and I spoke out of turn. Forgive me?"

Making a decision then and there to trust this woman, Hermione shook her head. "Not at all. My contract does not stipulate silence towards any woman here, only the men." She held her hand out in a formal, cordial greeting. "My name is Hermione Jean Granger, but please call me Hermione. I apologize for my earlier hesitance on a proper introduction, Ginevra, but I was required to receive the Abbess' blessing of our friendship before I could approach anyone witin these walls and reveal my true name and nature."

Ginevra beamed and shook her hand favorably. "No need to stand on formality then. Call me Ginny. And I understand the restraints that living within this house can place upon a person, so really, there is no need for apologies."

At that moment, Dobby appeared with a tray of tasty-looking morsels, placing it on the sideboard nearest the door. He then asked if he would be needed for further assistance, and when thanked for his service, he bowed and left with a snap of his fingers. "Let's eat, shall we?" Ginny grinned and hopped to her feet, hurrying to the service of food. "I'm practically _starving_ to death!"

Her friend's casual, comfortable way soon had Hermione totally disarmed and enchanted, and the two began clucking like old, long-acquaintance hens in no time whatsoever, sharing secrets as if they had been soul-sisters. Not even with Fleur had Hermione felt so easy and relaxed. Consequently, the evening seemed to drift by on swift wings, their conversation flowing easily (Pyg's long, pink tongue occasionally crept up towards her plate and fished smaller morsels or crumbs away, whipping away the stolen goods quickly; he attempted to be sneaky in the theft, and in those hours, Hermione realized her little familiar was an extremely intelligent, crafty creature whom she'd been horribly underestimating... and she loved him all the more for such cleverness).

"Thank goodness you dropped Irish," her redheaded friend revealed, taking a bite of a buttered croissant. "The man is too enamored of the sauce, in my opinion. And The Prince," she jokingly shuddered. "I can understand wanting to keep him for the bidding, but the man is simply ghastly." She collected Hermione's empty plate, like a good hostess, and poured her a cup of tea, bringing it and the matching saucer to her hand. "So, who's the favorite, so far? If you could control the auction's outcome, who would you want to win?"

Hermione bit her lip and blushed, looking into her cup of herbal, watching her reflection for a few seconds before blurting out her answer. "_Monsieur_ Dragon."

_Le Renard Rouge _sat up to full attention slowly, a smile donning her features. "Really? How fascinating."

The woman's tone spoke of some secret knowledge on the subject. Unable to help herself, Hermione pried. "In what way? Have you heard something?" She tried for calm and poised, but inside her breast, her heart began skipping about madly.

Her friend clucked her tongue, her grin growing. "He is my lover's Rum Colonel. And from what my beautiful man says, your Dragon is _quite_ smitten with you. I have once been privy to their private discussion as he awaited a turn for one of your appointments, and I gathered the impression… I believe he will do whatever it takes to win you, Hermione."

Unable to contain her enthusiasm, Hermione felt her jaw ache from smiling so wide. She was impolitely showing too many teeth, but seemed unable to prevent her reaction. "I pray it be so," she confessed. "I admit, the idea of him claiming me…" She shut her eyes and inhaled deeply, random images of her recent fantasies flowing through her once again. She bit her lip, and considered seriously whether to say more. Would it be safe to reveal herself so openly to such a new friend? Weighing the detriments versus the benefits, she concluded that she liked Ginny sincerely, and believed they had formed a solid basis for trust today. Perhaps it would be harmless to reveal a little more of her true feelings. Blinking open her lids, she sipped at her tea to whet her palette. "If he would be inclined, I would want him to court me after this contest is over. I fancy him dearly - more than any man I have ever known."

Her friend was quiet in contemplation, obviously, but Hermione could feel the woman's brilliant cerulean gaze measuring her carefully. "Do you know of his interests here while at the House before you?" she asked carefully. "It's something I think you should know the truth of before committing your heart."

Hermione tensed, feeling her chest clutch and took another sip from her Limoges porcelain cup, steadying the saucer in her other hand, trying to keep the tremble from her fingers from showing. "You speak of Aster," she stated as composedly as possible, but feeling slightly green around the edges at just thinking of the other woman, whom she'd only seen once. The pureblood witch was a gorgeous, snow-white goddess with pastel green-blue eyes; she moved as gracefully, confidently and sensually as finely woven silk through water. She was the complete opposite of Hermione - which only served to shake up her confidence, making her wonder again why The Dragon would seek her out when he had someone as stunningly beauteous as Aster willingly waiting for him. She looked once more into her cup, wondering if she really could divine her future there (distractedly disgusted at such thoughts, as she'd always felt Divination was pure gammon), and frowned slightly. "_Madame _and I discussed all of the suitors' relationships with the other ladies of this House by the end of the second week, so I would better understand the agreements already in place. It was an educational exchange, meant to remind me to guard my heart."

Ginevra was silent once more, weighing the unspoken words between them. "You more than fancy The Dragon. You have deep feelings for him already." There was no question to her tone. Hermione did not respond; found she couldn't quite voice her thoughts, as some nameless emotion gripped her throat and squeezed. More hush filled the space instead. After long minutes of awkward positioning, Ginny sighed aloud. "I suppose, if you're inclined to know and wouldn't mind the guile of such a plan, I could pry details of your wizard's long-term interests from my Italian. Discreetly, of course."

There was no controlling the shaking of her hand then, and tea sloshed into Hermione's saucer, nearly tipping onto her white muslin dress. "You… you would do that for me? But would it not jeopardize your relationship with your Italian?"

That mysterious beaming once more graced The Red Fox's pretty lips. "I would do it for both our edifications, as I find myself strangely interested in the man's ambitions as they concern you. And to be true, I think my _amante_ would be pleased to help in the attempt towards a match for his friend. He and The Dragon are as brothers, and it's clear my clever, rakish patron doesn't care a trifle for Aster's charms. The woman is a viper to her very soul, and all know it. Personally, I don't understand what anyone would see in her." Fluffing long, crimson strands off her shoulder with a casual brush of a hand, Ginny sniffed in amusement. "Even though I've very little personal knowledge of your blond god, I don't think he would be happy with the likes of _her_. _You_ are _infinitely _more beautiful, kind hearted, well-mannered and interesting." She grinned wickedly, but her playful expression changed in a heartbeat, dropping into a sort of wistful smile and sigh. "If we discovered _Monsieur_ Dragon wanted more from this business when it concludes… well, it would be nice for _one_ of us to achieve a happy ending with the man of our dreams, at the very least."

In a moment of enlightenment, Hermione realized her new friend's bedroom cries of love for The Italian were not just said in the heat of passion; the sultry redhead truly did harbor such depth of feelings for her dark-skinned lover. It was equally apparent that the woman feared he did not share the sentiment. She wanted to reassure her friend, but there would be a poignant awkwardness in reviewing how Hermione knew that The Italian seemed as taken with _Le Renard Rouge_ as she was with him; discussing what she'd seen of the man's enraptured and awed expression as he watched her friend while making love to her would be embarrassing and uncomfortable, most likely for both of them. Even though Ginevra knew she'd been observed behind the mirror last week, she didn't know by whom, and for discretions's sake, Hermione knew it would be best for her to never speak of her part in that act.

Placing her cup carefully into the grooves of her saucer, she reached out her freed hand and patted Ginny's arm gently. "I will hope for a satisfying life for both of us with men who will love and adore us." It wasn't what she wanted to say, but it was an honest sentiment.

As if snapping out of her growing melancholia, her friend's mood changed again (her negative emotions appeared short-lived, it seemed), and the smile was back on her face. "Then it's agreed I'm to spy for you," Ginny conspired in a low murmur. Her hand reached out and gripped Hermione's fingers. "And if you want advice on how to win the heart of your Dragon, perhaps I can answer any questions? Nothing is taboo to discuss between friends."

With an internal wince, Hermione knew that wasn't true, but she nodded nonetheless, excited for this opportunity to become closer to Ginevra. She'd never had a younger sister of her own while at school (being too busy with her Prefect and Head Girl duties while at Beauxbatons), and even though she clearly was the less mature of the two of them (_Le Renard Rouge_ had a greater amount of life experience, obviously), this felt like the beginning of a new kinship between the women that she hoped would last a lifetime.

They sat together all the rest of the evening gossiping and forming a plan of action (Ginevra on uncovering information on The Dragon from her lover, Hermione on how to coax a true kiss from the man the next chance she had). She finally returned to her rooms around eleven in the evening, and then changed and settled in for bed, reading for another hour her Puffskein caretaking book. Finishing the last page, she put the instructional tome on her side table and turned to Pyg, whom she had settled on his favorite pillow earlier.

"And what do you think, Pyg? Should I allow myself to fall for the man who gave you to me?"

Her little familiar morphed a brilliant sapphire blue, then flashed snow white, then settled on scarlet red. He trilled incessantly and rolled himself closer to her, pressing his soft, fluffy body against her forehead. If the colorful message had been made with flowers, it would have been clear: a mysterious, true, forever love – with the Dragon, it seemed - was her destiny. That according to Pyg anyway.

She rubbed her fingers lightly over her familiar's fur and smiled. "You know, I am a little scared to admit it, but a part of me really hopes you are right," she whispered the secret. With a sigh, she closed her eyes. "Sweet dreams, Pyg." She fell asleep minutes later to her familiar's soft purring, taking comfort in his endorsement, and hoping that her little Puffskein's prediction came true.

**X~~~~~X**

_**Malfoy Manor - Wiltshire, England **_

_**June 21, 1815 (Wednesday afternoon)**_

Draco received the owl'd note from _J.S. Fry & Sons_ that confirmed he had finally procured his Princess' gift for this next round of interviews. He and Blaise had poured over ideas last weekend, and decided upon a culinary invention - specifically, confections - to win the affections of his lovely. After all, what female didn't like sweets? However, what he had in mind to present the woman who had so utterly stolen his fancy was several steps above the typical, mundane dessert indulgence. Sweetmeats, pastries, tea cakes, biscuits, marzipan, puddings and pies were all passé. No, what he would give his heart's desire was the gift of _ambrosial_ _novelty_.

As luck would have it, Blaise's mother actually knew (read, "once took to her bed") one of Europe's foremost chocolatiers, one Mr. Joseph Storrs Fry of Bristol. The man in question had a singularly brilliant idea for the rich, addictive, hot cocoa beverage that had fashionably become a regular fixture throughout the palaces of Europe over the last century: he had solidified the chocolate into round, hollowed-out bonbons that could be eaten for pleasure with the fingers, rather than consumed as a liquid in a cup. By squeezing out the cocoa butter and pulverizing it into a thick paste, adding alkali, sugar and milk to remove the bitterness, and heating and grinding the solid nibs that remained very finely to ensure an even blending, the _maestro cuisinier _had made chocolate a _bonne bouche _all on its own. He'd even taken things one step further by injecting into the empty center of each perfectly rolled ball either a dark chocolate cream, strawberry cream, vanilla cream, peppermint cream, or orange cream fondant filling. For the final touch, he striped the chocolate spheres with lighter or darker colored chocolate, and even rolled some of them in nuts, ground up coffee beans or powdered sugar. The end result was a decadent extravagance that sinfully softened and dispersed upon one's tongue slowly, combining flavors that stimulated the oral cavity and made one's brain heady with pleasure. It initiated, Draco was convinced after sampling some of the treats this last Monday, a food-induced orgasm of the senses.

Simply put, his lovely would practically come when she tasted his offering.

Just the imagining of the rapturous glint of discovery and momentary abandonment to the flavor that was sure to light up her warm, brandy-colored eyes, and plump her lips into a smile, and heat her cheeks with desiring fire made him brick hard in his trousers. He couldn't wait to view the moment.

He'd commissioned Fry to create the finest batch of his chocolate elegance – two dozen of the sweets, so she could enjoy them even when he was not present - to be ready by Saturday afternoon at the latest. He then contracted the best woodcarver craftsman in the city to create from rosewood (and to hand paint and inlay with polished shell and pearl with romantic flair) a special heart-shaped box to house the treats within (that way, she could keep the box ever after to store away her precious trinkets), and to deliver that box to Mr. Fry by Saturday morning, so the total package could be assembled and delivered to the Manor House by that afternoon in one fell swoop.

The note he firmly held in his hand now confirmed all of those instructions and the order, assuring his gift would be ready on schedule. Sitting back in his chair in his study, he let out an immense sigh of relief, and quickly penned a confirmation, sending along a promissory note for payment later that afternoon, after he visited his vault at Gringotts. This gift was not inexpensive by any means - 20 galleons for the chocolates, 10 for the box - but to see the rapture on his lovely's face would be worth every knut.

In his painstaking quest to give her the best and most unique items in the world, Draco was praying to endear The Princess to him, so that after this inciting, disturbing auction business had finished, she might consider his courtship for her hand seriously. He knew, however, that many of her other suitors also had this intention, and that worried him, honestly. His instincts told him he fired his lovely's blood as thoroughly as she did to his, but he couldn't help the nagging voice of doubt that constantly reminded him of the sheer number of men who were just as determined as he to have her - most of whom were _serious_ competition, both in the kind of security and comfort they could offer her, and in their physical and mental attributes. Given that, how could he distinguish whether he was special to her or not when Sinistra's damnable rules prevented him from snooping on the other candidates?

The depth of his own feelings for his lovely was now acutely transparent to him. He'd spent Monday night being interrogated on the subject by his closest friends – Zabini, Crabb and Goyle - in the privacy afforded by a secluded corner of _The Rook's Club_, as the men smoked and shared a bottle of Firewhiskey. Gregory had asked him his long-term intentions regarding the woman, and Draco had made his feelings perfectly clear for the first time (both to himself and others): he intended on seeking her hand in marriage when all was said and done in a few weeks. He'd unconsciously come to that determination soon after leaving her last Wednesday night, but it had taken several more days (and an overwhelming obsession over finding the perfect gift for her, just so he could make her smile in that same beauteous way as she had when she'd first touched Pyg or when she'd held the Encantado's shell up to her ear) for that fact to sink in and take a firm root. It was no surprise that all three men, bachelors the lot, were taken aback by his candid, staid pronouncement, and yet of the three, it was Zabini who nodded finally in harmonious understanding and approval of his plans.

If only there was a way to discover his Princess' feelings for him in such an open manner, then perhaps he could grind his internal trepidations and doubts under his boot heel once and for all!

Regrettably, Draco had never excelled at the art of Divination as his mother had, and any form of trickery to discern the truth of this disconcerting matter would not be tolerated in this game, according to the House Madam, so he was reduced to waiting on the edge of a sharp pin for any opportunity to spend time with her instead, hoping to glean a hint to her true affections and continually bribing her with rare bobbles and tantalizing conversation for just one more chance to do so every week.

Thank the gods there was only ten more days until the auction, when this matter would finally be settled! Then he could woo his lovely properly - within the sanctuary of his own bedroom, if he had his druthers.

**X~~~~~X**

_**Diagon Alley - London, England**_

_**June 22, 1815 (Thursday evening)**_

Astoria sat in her private bedroom in _La Cerise_, waiting, sprawled rather melodramatically across the French settee in front of her bed. Rearranging the lap blanket over her, she adjusted her position again, wanting to get it "just so" for the performance to come. She worked on perfecting the act of the pathetically exhausted woman in distress, slumping back against the raised cushion on the one end, maintaining a frown. Thank goodness her mask hid most of her upper face away, though, as the lack of dark circles and the missing lines of exhaustion rimming one's eyes when one was suffering from insomnia might have given her act away to her anticipated guest. 'York,' was nothing if not exceptionally observant and deductive – a trait all Potions Masters shared (that according to the House 'Whore Mother' who had supplied her with all sorts of juicy information about this particular Joey, in anticipation of their plan to knock her former love-interest out of that cock-sucking virgin auction).

What Astoria knew of this particular client, having been his lover on and off for the last three years (despite her promises of fidelity to any number of clients), was that he had a somewhat gullible nature, as long as suspicion was not provoked. If she could pull off tonight's performance well enough, he'd give her what she asked for, and _that_, in turn, would assure her ultimate victory in this ploy to win back her Dragon's attentions.

A soft knock at the door signaled the appearance of York. "Come," she weakly projected, and put on the most pathetic face she could muster.

As soon as her _beau de nuit_ opened the door and took one look at her, concern flashing in the man's eyes and a heavy frown tugging his lips downward, Aster knew the game had been set well. This poor sod was all hers now.

And soon, Draco Malfoy would be, too.

* * *

_**TO BE CONTINUED…**_

_**

* * *

**_

**AUTHOR'S EXTENDED NOTES:**

_"__**Si tu savais comment je t'aime, toi aussi tu dois m'aimer" = French lyrics, translated directly as: "If you knew how much I love you, you would have to love me too…"**_** Song name: "Kar Kar." Artist: Boubacar Traore. Genre Music: Jazz guitar.**

_**Sawing Logs**_** = 17th Century slang meaning "to snore," as the sound mimicked that of a beaver sawing through logs with his teeth.**

_**Andrew Pears**_** = A famous soap miller who owned a world-renowned retail soap shop on Oxford Street in London, where he made and retailed his product to the public. Most of his soaps were horribly expensive and appealed to a wealthier clientele. Information can be read here (remove all spaces to load URL correctly): http: / en . wikipedia . org / wiki / Pears_soap**

_**Nouveau chic **_**= A French meaning something is "new & in an elegant style."**

**The practice of adding color to fingernails and toenails appears to have begun with the Egyptians around 3000 B.C. The formula for the temporary lacquer Hermione used on her nails in this chapter is actually an ancient Chinese recipe hailing back at least to 600 B.C. (it lasts only overnight, however, and with frequently hand washing, must be reapplied; the Alum – which contains Aluminum - is actually toxic to humans if a person is continually exposed to it, FYI). Socially, the color and condition of a person's nails has long been an indication of social status. Nail condition also separated common laborers (who worked with their hands and could not often afford nail care) from aristocrats and high-class merchants (who indulged in the fashion). Cleaner, well groomed, and tinted nails indicated wealth.**

_**Soeur**_** = French for "sister." In many boarding schools in the U.K., an older or more experienced student is often paired with a younger or new student (or two or three) in an administrative mentorship program. For women, the relationship is "Big Sister" to "Little Sister," and for men, it's "Big Brother" to "Little Brother." The job of the "Big Sister/Brother" is to show the "Little Sister/Brother" around the campus and dormitories, help them with their studies, encourage them throughout their school life in their academic and recreational pursuits (i.e. sports programs, debate clubs, choir, etc.), and to generally be a moral guide.**

_**Hand-held fans as Ladies Fashion in Regency Era**_** = A great website dedicated to the issue of how hand-held fans were extremely important to ladies' fashion during this time period, and thus made wonderful gifts (remove all spaces to load the URL properly): www . antiquesjournal . com / Pages04 / Monthly_pages / march09 / **

_**The Sauce**_** = Term coined by Shakespeare, referring to "alcohol."**

_**Limoges**_** = A very famous, exclusive porcelain maker (dishware, jewelry and make-up boxes, perfume bottles) from the 17th century. **

_**Gammon**_** = Old British slang meaning, "deceptive/to deceive, false, undependable."**

_**Rum Colonel**_** = Old British slang meaning, "best (male) friend" (said only between men). The earliest origin trace for this phrase comes from the British merchant sailors who moved between the Caribbean Islands and Britain in the 18th Century. If a crew was particularly well thought of, and a haul into port made without problems, sometimes the Crew Master would petition the Captain or his Second to supply a cup of rum per crewmember. In thanks, the crew would refer to the Crew Master as their "Rum Colonel" or supplier of good spirits. **

_**Amante**_** = Italian for "lover."**

_**Reference to the meanings of flowers and color **_**= People in the Regency and Victorian eras took the language of flowers very seriously. Flowers became the means by which women communicated with their suitors and vice versa; it was considered too bold to speak overtly of emotions of a romantic nature towards a potential admirer during the time. The distinct scent of a particular flower or the grouping of flowers in a bouquet conveyed unique messages. Often, these botanical gifts demonstrated feelings and emotions a person dared not to say out loud in public. Even the way flowers were given to someone had its own hidden message. For instance, if a man handed a woman an upright bouquet of flowers, he had something happy and positive to tell her. An upside-down bouquet, on the other hand, meant he was bringing her some dark news. Handing a man a flower with the right hand indicates that she is agreeable to his proposal, while presenting the flower with the left hand often means that she is declining his offer. It was important for those in the Regency and Victorian age to know what each flower meant so that they would send the right message to their lovers or anyone else. Entire dictionaries were written and published to explain this mysterious language to everyone. This point will come up again in future chapters, so remember it!**

_**Maestro **_**= Italian for "Master."**

_**Cuisinier **_**= French for "a male expert chef."**

_**Bonne bouche **_**= French (literally) for "good mouth." It is used to refer to something that is an elegant treat or tidbit. **

_**Chocolate in early 19th century Britain: **_**Chocolate had been, until the late 1840's, strictly a drinking or baking delight (in powdered or liqueur paste format mostly, and very rarely as bricks to be melted). The invention of a chocolate bar as we know them today – one that was consumed by itself for pleasure - didn't come until it's invention by J.S. Fry & Sons (a company owned by Joseph Storrs Fry). The first chocolate bar was produced in 1847. Therefore, Draco getting his hands on such an item during the 1815's, when Fry was still experimenting with the concept of creating edible chocolates, would be as rare as owning a cordless, push-button phone during the 1950's, when everyone else was stuck with rotary dial phones that had a cord connected to the wall and they couldn't be moved more than a few feet from the cradle and you had to ask the operator to connect you to a specific number. Needless to say, you would be in awe of such an inconceivable wonder, naturally, and probably fall all over yourself to try to obtain one (despite how prohibitively expensive it would be). And it would be as rare as the crown jewels until it hit the mass market – an item worth major bragging rights for the owner.**

**1 galleon = approximately 5 British Pounds in the modern currency rate exchange according to JKR's calculations. However, if you convert the currency of today to that during the Regency Era (1815-1820, specifically), 1 British Pound now would have corresponded to 85 British Pounds back then, so 1 galleon = 425 British Pounds. Using that calculation, the box of chocolates (at 30 galleons) would have cost 12,750 British Pounds or 15,472 Euros or US$19,335 in today's economy. Given that this box of chocolates that Draco is going to present to Hermione weighs about 24 ounces (1.5 pounds converted) that's still US$15,435 more than the world's most expensive chocolate currently (Knipschildt from Connecticut costs US$2,600 per pound).**

_**Joey**_** = British slang meaning "young person." Still in use today in Australia to refer to the dependent offspring of kangaroos.**

_**Aster's use of nasty language**_** = Snopes . com has a great explanation on the etymology of the term 'fuck' (its history and usage since the 16th century). As for the word 'cock,' it was quite common as well from around the same time period. For this story, Aster would certainly know and use these terms, as she is bawdy, slaggy and quite 'common' (as Sinistra already pointed out).**

_**Beau de nuit **_**= French for "man of the night."**


	5. Ch 5: Bleu, Rouge et Blanc

_**CHAPTER FIVE: "BLEU, ROUGE ET BLANC" **_

_**Diagon Alley - London, England**_

_**June 23, 1815 (Friday morning)**_

Aurora rifled through the pages of the former Madam's private journal once again, seeking to clarify her understanding of something that had been nagging at her now for weeks, and that had only caused her greater consternation after meeting with _La Cerise's_ Master. This journal was, as far as she understood, kept extremely secret – even the owner of the establishment did not know of its existence. It was passed from one Madam to the next by a charm that made them appear for the new Abbess upon their formal employment, and it traced back several centuries' worth of comings and goings in the House, to the inception of _La Cerise _in the 13th century.

Finding the entries of the Madam who had ruled the roost thirty years previous, she read every word – every nuance of quill stroke – carefully, stopping upon the first one in particular that meshed with her suspicions:

_**June 20, 1785**_

_**It was clear to me from their very first meeting that my young charge and the suitor known as The Patrician were divinely ordained. The meeting of their eyes across a room – regardless of the number and distinction of peerage in attendance - carried the electric charge of a Stunning Spell. Yet, the power held between them at a distance was nothing compared to the compelling feel across one's nerve endings whenever they touched. Pure magic coasted through the air, settling as warmth in one's chest and belly. The sensation was unlike any I have ever felt before or since, even with my own lover. I am somewhat envious of their fate, for it is certain they were destined for love…**_

A second entry, several pages later, caught her eye:

_**July 1, 1785**_

_**I am quite certain The Patrician means to win the bid for my beautiful ward. I am convinced he will allow nothing to interfere with his claiming of her innocence – even his father's indomitable will. **_

_**I admit confusion as to the elder's reluctance to unite his lineage with the noblest of aristocratic Houses. It makes little sense, as the Black family has been able to trace its roots back to Hugh the Black, the Duke of Burgundy from the 10th century. The fact that the man was not a wizard should not, in any fashion, unbalance his ancestor's worth however…**_

One of the final records finally convinced Aurora that she was on the right track:

_**July 31, 1785**_

_**I have had the workers quietly removing the clutter in the basement for the last two weeks, and it took another week to break down the trick walls that protect the true foundational sides of the establishment. The final work was completed today, and as I looked about at the cleared space, I finally perceived the truth - it is as I suspected all along! The house was built here with clear purpose centuries ago. The spells worked into the base stone of the floor and all four walls resonate with old magic – the kind that is forbidden and no longer practiced or instructed within Ministry-approved educational facilities. It would appear the enchantments are here to serve a very specific purpose, yet, I am at a stand-still again, as I have no knowledge of ancient runes, or their translation. I will need to bring in an expert. It will take some time to find one…**_

Fortunately, Aurora knew just one specific witch whose educational experience lent its self to reading Ancient Runes.

She closed the journal, charmed it back into the bag bespelled with the Undetectable Extensions Charm, where it had lain hidden within for years, and placed it within her private vault in the back wall of her study. Then, she headed out to Hermione Granger's room.

**X~~~~~X**

_**Diagon Alley - London, England**_

_**June 23, 1815 (Friday afternoon)**_

After discussing a new exciting adventure with Madam Sinistra just that morning – the translating of some ancient runes that were carved into the basement of the House's foundation as soon as this round of interviews had finished – Hermione was astonished to find Ginny knocking upon her bedroom door with an offer of lunch to be shared on Hermione's balcony patio, enticing her with good news of their plan having been put into action.

Letting her new friend in, and excusing herself a moment behind the changing screen to slip on a light green, muslin Morning Dress, she decided to do something bold and leave her mask off. It was just the two of them, after all, and she'd already cast a locking and silencing charm over the door for privacy to assure they weren't interrupted except by Dobby, who she would call to attend their luncheon request (she trusted him to not gossip).

When she rounded the screen, feeling a fluttering in her belly for daring to break a rule, she looked up in time to see The Red Fox – who was wearing only a black mask over her eyes just then – stop, blink, pause to consider and then reach around and remove her own covering. It was a profound moment for Hermione, who had been relegated to hiding for the last several months, ever since she'd cloistered herself away at _La Cerise_. She could likewise sense her friend's excited trepidation.

The two women stared at each other, and then broke into girlish giggles, rushing across the space and hugging.

"Circe's witness, you are _gorgeous_!" Ginny breathed with a happy sigh. "Look at that skin – flawless!"

"And _you_," Hermione pointed out with a bright smile. She leaned back and took Ginevra's hands, and the two whirled about like silly children. "Merlin, I had not realized how repressive this mask had become. Not showing my true face to others for such long weeks… I feel so marvelously free!"

Ginny heartily agreed. "I've detested the masks since the first. It's been almost a year and a half for me. Some girls have been here longer under the same restriction."

Hermione felt a pang in her heart for her friend and the other women. "I have wondered why it is necessary for such a ruse?"

Her friend led her to the settee, so they could sit in comfort. "It is novel and it adds to the allure," she commented dryly. "Anonymity and mystery allow people to behave as they truly desire – licentious, reckless. Outside these walls, wantonness is discouraged, but inside, gratuitous carnality is allowable."

"Anything goes?" Hermione wondered.

Ginny smirked knowingly, a teasing glint in her eye. "You know that as well as I. The mirrors aren't charmed."

If she could have happily crawled into the woodwork at their feet, Hermione would have done so, so great was her embarrassment. She closed her eyes. "You knew?"

A hand touched her arm gently. "I deduced. Who else would request to see the workings of love but a virgin?"

Face flaming amaranth, Hermione swallowed and looked up, placing her hand over her friend's. "Then, I should tell you the truth of what I observed. The other day, when you intimated that one of us deserved a happy ending… oh, Ginevra, I think your Italian is _very_ much enamored of you, too. If you will pardon my presumption, his eyes were positively worshipping of you."

Rose blooms decorated the other woman's cheeks and her pretty cerulean eyes widened. "He's never articulated his love to my ears, but… do you truly believe so?"

Entwining their fingers, she held their hands between them and squeezed reassuringly. "With all my heart."

The dreamy smile on Ginny's face was simply beauteous, and Hermione wondered if her own demeanor reflected such a silly expression whenever she spoke of The Dragon.

_One more day_, she happily thought to herself. Her appointment with the platinum-blond wizard who had captured her affections was tomorrow night. She'd already picked out a beautiful Parisian dress from the ones she'd had commissioned two months ago. Figuring out where to hide the green ribbon was going to be challenging, however, as the dress did not have any sleeves. Perhaps her ankle again?

Her friend's stomach rumbled, and there was a small pause as they both looked down at the offending organ, and burst into another round of laughter. "I had better retrieve Pyg from the balcony. Can you call up Dobby and request lunch?"

As they separated, she drifted over to the patio, hearing her friend already summoning and speaking to the helpful, little house elf. Stepping outside, she found a sunny yellow-colored Pyg trilling happily, fully sated on flies and gnats. "Well, Your Majesty," she jokingly bowed to her familiar. "You seem quite sated. Would you like your afternoon nap now?"

Pyg rocked back and forth, continuing to warble. Hermione took that as an affirmation. Picking him up gently, she brought him inside, noting Dobby's absence (he'd obviously left to fulfill his task already), leaving the balcony doors open. "Shall we enjoy our respite outside today?" she suggested, petting her puffball softly.

Ginny grimaced. "We'll have to put our masks back on, just in case there are visitors to the rose garden below."

Hermione considered it. She really didn't want to have to encumber herself so soon. "I will leave the doors open then, if you do not mind, so we may enjoy the fresh air at least."

Her friend leaned forward conspiratorially. "If you would, charm the balcony doors against sound so we can discuss… the condition… of certain plans."

Placing Pyg on his pillow on the bed so he could take a rest, she reached for her wand and bespelled the exits, as recommended. Then, with another wave of her wand, she arranged a side table before the settee for Dobby's tray when it arrived.

As they settled back down and Hermione poured the tea provided by the kitchens, Ginny immediately launched into her explanation of events from the night before, spent in the company of her Italian. "I had the opportunity to breach the subject of your Dragon and the auction."

Unable to prevent the nervous gesture, Hermione bit her bottom lip between two teeth. "And, does… does he opine that… that my suitor's intentions are similarly held to the same standard, or… or would my feelings be misplaced in this instance?"

Ginny's smile was positively beaming. "He is definitely of the firm understanding that _Monsieur_ Dragon's feelings are a singular match to your own. He confided, in truth, that your man has plans to sue for your permanent favor at the conclusion of the auction."

Hermione's hands shook so violently from the news that she was forced to put her precious porcelain cup and matching saucer down. She shut her eyes and took a deep, calming breath. Then she did something that she had only ever done once in her life - when she'd received her unanimous "O" N.E.W.T. results back in school – she squealed with unfettered joy.

It was only a momentary release of energy, and she quickly regained composure, but it felt _delightful_.

Tears of sincere gladness filled up her eyes, spilling over. "Oh, my," she embarrassingly attempted to dab them away with her napkin. "I apologize most sincerely. I am simply overcome."

The Red Fox put her own tea aside and leaned forward to give Hermione's arm another squeeze. "I'm so very happy for you both. Your hearts are as one."

A sobering thought suddenly occurred, and Hermione's smile vanished in an instant. "The auction…"

Her girlfriend shook her head firmly. "He _will_ win you. You must have faith." She put a finger up between them. "But we're going to take steps to assure he is unquestionably convinced that you're equally of the same sentiment."

As they consumed their delicious noontime meal, they schemed out tomorrow night's plans for Hermione's appointment with her princely Dragon… and how to get around Madam Sinistra for a little privacy.

**X~~~~~X**

_**Malfoy Manor - Wiltshire, England**_

_**June 23, 1815 (Friday early evening)**_

Draco had tossed away with the rubbish the summons letter from Aster that had arrived by owl that afternoon. This was the fifth such note he'd received from her since he had corresponded nine days ago announcing the annulment of their exclusivity understanding, and thanking her for her years of companionship, but making it clear that he would no longer require her services. Per standard politeness, he further encouraged her pursuit towards other avenues of lucridity, and wished her all possible happiness in the future. The woman, however, had proven to be irritatingly persistent, ignoring his termination of their relationship. Each subsequent memo he had received was penned with an increasingly desperate hand as he ignored the previously sent one. Today's communication outright begged for him to call upon her tonight, offering enticements that might once have moderately interested him, but now made him shudder to consider with the likes of his former paramour.

The woman was, as Blaise had rightly pointed out, an unrelenting leech.

The epistles would not stop, he now understood. Aster had become obsessed, either with his money, or the gifts he'd once lavished upon her, or their physical bedroom activities, or possibly a combination of all three – he could not rightly say. In all sincerity, and in rationalizing his understanding of Aster's disposition from their long-time acquaintance, however, an eruption of the woman's temperamental nature had been imminent. It seemed it was time to have a face-to-face conversation with the witch to set her straight once and for all. He would have to make her accept that they were unreservedly finished – _not_ in abeyance, and _not _mistakenly dissolved, either.

Such concerns would have to be put off until next week, however, as he had more pressing business to attend to this weekend…

Tonight, he was to meet with his former Slytherin Head of Household, Severus Snape. They were meeting for port and cigars over at _The Rook's Club_ (Draco's membership insuring his mentor was guaranteed entry to the exclusive wizarding social establishment). Their conference would serve a two-fold purpose: first and foremost, he intended upon informing his godfather of his participation in the auction at _La Cerise_, and would press upon the man his intentions to pursue his Princess' hand in marriage after the formalities of the bidding had concluded, hoping for Severus' hearty congratulations; and second, he had concerns regarding the rumors that his grandfather had been covertly reissuing the call to his former like-minded colleagues in reinventing his anti-establishment coven. If true, the stain on his family's name could not be overlooked so easily this time around by society and _that _would significantly threaten the future he was beginning to envision. The family and lifestyle he'd dreamed of from the time he'd been old enough to understand what it meant to be a man, could quite possibly be destroyed.

He _would not_ allow such a loss to transpire, especially now that he had something worth fighting for - his beautiful, witty, intellectually stimulating, and warm-hearted lovely, his perfect Princess, his venerated Galatea.

Despite the fact that his grandfather Abraxas' former Master, Voldemort, had fallen from grace in a rather fiery demise some thirty and three years previous, the undercurrents of that nearly successful rebellion still troubled the Ministry of Magic. Such anxiousness was only heightened by the rumors that had persisted for decades that the Dark Lord's loyal followers – of which, his grandfather had been confirmed, and he suspected his departed father had been conscripted amongst their ranks – still carried on his mission in secret. Draco knew Snape had once fallen in with that "purebloods only" rhetoric as well, but a little less than a decade ago, around the time his parents had died, the man had quietly abandoned such conviction and retreated from the informal gatherings that were occasionally called up. Soon after Draco had graduated from Hogwarts' hallowed halls, in fact, his godfather had embarked upon a path of respectable commerce in the private trade of potions making, opening up a modest, honest shop in Diagon Alley and retiring from the profession of education permanently (he suspected such a move was to clarify to the world that Severus Snape was a respectable warlock in the business community now, and had no desires whatsoever to take up with "undesirables").

If anyone would be in a position to know whether his grandfather was up to his old tricks again, it might be Snape. It was a folly's chance, but if Severus could identify any truths to the rumors Draco had heard whispered about in fear around the various public venues he frequented, he might be in a better position to head off any lunacy on Abraxas' part, and preserve his family's social reputation.

Not-so tragically (although rather short-sighted of him, he understood now in retrospect), he had absolutely no contact with the cruel, sadistic madman that was the current patriarch of his family's name, having severed their relationship permanently when he'd taken his sizable inheritance – including the Manor House - that he'd come into ownership of upon his seventeenth birthday (assured for him by his parent's Last Will and Testament well in advance of their untimely deaths) and made it clear to Abraxas that he never wanted to see the man again. He'd lived with his grandfather's fearsome and volatile temper for that last month of the summer between his Sixth and Seventh Years at Hogwarts, after his father and mother had been killed, and that had been enough exposure to convince Draco to cut the man off completely as soon as he'd come into his adulthood.

Sighing, Draco looked up at the clock over the mantle in the study. He had less than an hour to make himself presentable before he'd Apparate over to the club for his reunion with his godfather.

Heading for his rooms, he stripped for a bath, calling his house elf to arrange an outfit for this evening's excursion, making his preparations as quick as possible. When he'd dressed, combed his hair properly, and checked his coin purse to assure he had enough galleons on-hand for a night of entertainment, he grabbed up his wand and popped away from his home, assured that his loyal retainer would replace the wards as soon as he'd gone.

**X~~~~~X**

_**The Rook's Club - Diagon Alley, London, England**_

_**June 23, 1815 (Friday evening)**_

After ordering a bottle of their finest port and a two-a-piece cigar set of the finest Gurkha's – His _Moest Highe and Maeghty Warlock's Reserve_ brand – and letting the club's serving man light it for him, Draco waved his wand over the space between he and his mentor, bespelling the area for privacy. He then sat back in the dragon-hide leather cozy chair, draping his hands across the arms casually and crossing his legs elegantly. Blowing out a deep exhalation of lazily curling smoke, he stared across at his dark robed mentor, noting that the normally pale features contained a healthy glow, and the typically lank, sable hair was silky and shiny, gathered and tied back in a fashionable thong. In the man's dark, obsidian eyes, there was a softness he'd never seen before. He wondered absently what the name of the beauty was who had so altered his godfather's attitude.

Severus took a long pull on his brand, staring right back at Draco evenly. "Shall we dispense with the pleasantries, and get to the purpose of this engagement?" he asked, smirking meaningfully, blowing a lungful of 'safe smoke' into the hazy air.

Draco had the grace to look away, abashed. "If it wouldn't be too presumptuous…" he began, but was cut off by a dark chuckle from the man sitting across from him.

"You are always thus, godson," Snape asserted boldly. "So, shall we get to the heart of the matter before my bones become one with this chair?"

Nodding in reluctant acknowledgement, Draco launched directly into his favors. When he'd finished, he waited on his former Head of House's response with much trepidation, hoping, praying…

Severus finished off his cigar, dabbing out the butt in a nearby crystal ashtray before replying. "As to your initial announcement," the man began, drawing out the drama, as he was wont to do. "I am extremely pleased for you, Draco. A match to a fine woman of breeding from an establishment of such esteemed reputation will only add to your family's social wealth, and comes at an auspicious time. To be frank, you aren't getting any younger, and it was time you settled and began a family of your own. That you actually love the chit, and from what you tell me, she appears to fancy your affections in return, only sweetens the pot. Well done, boy. Very well done, indeed."

Draco basked in his godfather's praise. His mentor had filled the void after Lucius' death, guiding him appropriately along the path to becoming the rightful and true Lord of his family's name, and protecting him from his grandfather's wroth after their unfavorable separation. As such, Snape's opinion of him was of the highest import – even more so than Blaise's, who had been his best friend all his life.

"Thank you, Severus, for your blessing," he politely returned. "It means a great deal."

Sipping his port, the man gently smacked lips that had thinned in preparation for the next topic. "As to your latter request…" He swirled the contents of the glass about gently, watching the tawny port slide slowly down the clear surface. "Your grandfather has always been a loose cannon. Yet, make no mistake, Draco, he is a _very_ dangerous man and not to be trifled with. It is best for you to avoid all contact with him, if you can maneuver such a situation." He frowned, his hawkish features pinching in contemplation. "I still have contacts with former… associates… on occasion through the shop. I will undertake the task of finding out if there is any truth to the rumors you speak of, and inform you of my investigative efforts within a week." He took another swig of the lightly almond-nut flavored drink in his hand, finishing off the glass. "Perhaps it would be best, however, if we weren't seen together again in public until I have news one way or the other - to discourage any gossip of your connection to me whilst I trod through the… darker paths… once more." He smirked wryly. "It would most likely harm your attempts to woo the lady of your heart should she discover you were connected, in any fashion, to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named."

Draco nodded sagely. "Thank you," he simply stated, crushing his cigar out and calling a wait staff member over to place his now-empty glass upon a tray. Severus did likewise. The server then took up the stubs and the ashtrays and swept everything away in a blink. Snape took that as his cue, and stood to leave. Draco rose to his feet politely and the two clasped in a familial hug.

When he pulled back, he kept his hands on his godfather's shoulders and looked the man square in the eye. "Owl or floo call if you need _anything_. My vaults and my wand arm are at your service always."

With a sad, yet fond smile – one Draco had only ever seen on the man opposite him twice in his life, once after his graduation ceremony from school, and once when he'd decided to take his future into his own hands and leave Abraxas Malfoy behind – Severus squeezed his shoulders back. "Goodbye, Draco."

Feeling a peculiar pang in his chest, and suspicious of the… _finality_… of his godfather's farewell, Draco narrowed his eyes and measured the man intently. "Be careful," he firmly bid. "I expect you by my side for my wedding, my friend."

Again, that odd smile touched upon the tired features of his middle-aged mentor. "I have ever been conscientiously vigilant, godson. _Ever and always_."

With that, Severus Snape strode away in a swirling of black fabric, making his way down the carpeted aisle towards the stairs with resolute stride, head held high, onyx eyes alert and shining with purpose. Clearly, he was looking forward to playing out the challenge he'd been presented. It was the first time in years he'd shown such enthusiasm, and Draco wondered if the idea of danger and intrigue hadn't been something the man had missed since walking away from the world of Abraxas Malfoy almost a decade before.

**X~~~~~X**

_**Diagon Alley - London, England**_

_**June 24, 1815 (Saturday afternoon)**_

After Ginny had left her rooms around one o'clock that afternoon - after enjoying a light brunch and planning session for the night's activities together - Hermione took a leisurely bath. Floating amongst lilac and vanilla scented bubbles, she laid her head back into the water, soaking her hair thoroughly, staring up at the ceiling.

Per custom, this fourth round of interviews was the last before the auction. Madam Sinistra had planned a final, grand ball to commemorate the event (and to remind the suitors of her worth, allowing them a final opportunity to speak with her one-on-one) for the evening before the auction – next Friday. Anyone who received an invitation to bid during this final set of appointments was invited to that affair.

Thus far, she'd met with Bootsey, Argonaut, Scots, the Accountant, the Etruscan, the Prince and Vivi. The only ones who _hadn't_ been gifted with the small box containing a single, fresh cherry inside, lying on a swath of silken white fabric – the sign of approval to participate in the final bid – had been the Accountant, the Etruscan and the Prince, none of whom she could bring herself to accept winning the final bid. Truthfully, she'd have cut them all, but Aurora had cautioned against it, stating that the rules of the contract she had signed were quite clear: at least five participants must remain for the auction to take place. Some suitors, her abbess had stated, may decide to drop their interest at the final moment, and for that reason, the more bidders she included on the roster, the greater the chances of the auction being successful.

Tonight, she would meet with York, Wolf and her Dragon, and tomorrow night, the final three contestants would greet her once more - Knot, Jer and Gold. Of the lot, she believed she might be willing to cut York out as well.

In sincerity, she wished to whittle the list down to just _one_ name specifically, but was restrained from doing as she'd desired, and so picked men she would be willing to lie with (albeit reluctantly, all except for The Dragon) in the worst-case scenario, reminding herself that the purpose behind the auction had been to win enough money to buy her way out of her engagement contract with Harry, not to allow her emotions unmitigated sway over her ability to do so. Being free of that loveless match with her childhood friend (so she could pursue her life's dreams, and he could pursue Miss Lovegood) _had_ to take precedence over her own wishes in this case. Thus, pragmatically, she set about assuring that a compromise was met by including the list of men she could endure giving her virginity to (while secretly, she idealistically hoped that her Dragon would, in fact, come out the victor of this particular challenge).

She glanced at the clock over her mantle as it chimed out the two o'clock hour. She should probably get out of the tub soon and begin getting ready for her first appointment – a high tea to be held at four.

In all honesty, she wasn't in as placid a mood to entertain her first or second appointments tonight. Her final meeting, however, would be with the man she'd _really_ longed to spend time with – her Dragon, at ten o'clock. It would be another late night, ending at half past twelve in the morning, and she prayed she had the endurance to make it that long and not end up too exhausted to enjoy her time with the man she had waited so long to see again.

Closing her eyes, she floated on the gently lapping water as she leisurely waved her arms under the surface. It was so quiet and peaceful, and for a few moments, the world drifted away and it was just her with her memories.

_It was their first introduction in private, with only Aurora as witness. She'd decided to invite this interesting, challenging man called 'The Dragon' back as he was preparing to take his leave of her. Kneeling down before her, his leg boldly brushing hers, he took her hand gently between his fingers. "We've only just begun having fun, Princess," he promised as he bent his head and ran his lips erotically over her knuckles._

…that was the night she admitted to herself that her heart's curiosity had at last been piqued by a wizard of worth.

_Their second meeting was coming to a close. Monsieur Dragon stood for the door, but stopped and took her hand in his. Again, sparkling, exhilarating magic jumped between them, and she reacted with loss of breath and instant desire between her legs. "Say you'll see me again," he bid her in a sultry, low voice that made things in her belly tingle._

…that was the night she admitted to herself that she'd finally felt lust for a man.

_He laid her hand over his chest, allowing her to feel the staccato beat of his racing heart. "I am usually a man of great restraint and a good measure of solid reserve," he'd told her evenly, belying his quickened blood, "but as you can feel, my lovely, you have bewitched me as no woman ever has before."_

…that was the night she'd admitted to herself she had started falling in love with her silver-eyed, glib-tongued suitor.

"My Dragon," she whispered, her fingers traveling over her body slowly, imagining they were his caresses over sensitive skin, causing her to electrify and shiver in desire. It took only a few small brushes over her tiny, pink _cerise_, stroking that fire up while fantasizing that it was his mouth buried there, as she had seen The Italian take her friend's quim, and Hermione felt the rapturous, sweet release engulf her senses.

Panting lightly, sated for now, she enjoyed another half hour in her bath, humming in pleasurable satisfaction with the residual, glowing feelings that lingered and swelled every time she thought of her tall, blond temptation. Then, she got out and began preparations for the night's events, petting a sleepy Pyg (who was curled up on her pillow napping) in happiness as she laid out her dress across the coverlet of her bed.

**X~~~~~X**

_**Diagon Alley - London, England**_

_**June 24, 1815 (Saturday evening)**_

It was with true anticipation that Draco climbed the stairs and walked the empty stretch of hallway to his lovely's apartment. Under his arm, he carried his gift – meticulously wrapped, held carefully against his chest with one arm. Taking a deep breath at her door, checking the state of his mask one last time, he knocked precisely at ten o'clock, when the grand chime rang through the House. There was a pause of a few seconds, and then the wooden portal opened to heaven, and his angel stood before him… bedecked in a devilishly seductive dress.

Parisian in cut, sleeveless, the dark chocolate-colored corset of the dress was tight, allowing an enticing spill of bosom to flourish curvaceously over the top of the A-line cut. The bottom skirt – a dark gold - hugged her body's shape to the knee, then flared slightly at the bottom, and was pleated with French ruffles. On her wrists were delicate gold bracelets in layers. Her gorgeous mane of curly hair was pinned up on the sides by gold barrettes, allowing full exposure to the graceful arc of her throat, which was bared of jewelry. The remainder of her long tresses fell freely down her back in undulating waves of beauty. Her earrings matched the color of her skirt and hung low – inverted burnished gold molded into fanning peacock feathers, the center of each eye a startling dark gold amber teardrop.

As always, his lovely was simply breathtaking.

"Good evening, sweet Princess," he forced himself not to stare impolitely.

Her smile, which lit up even her eyes behind the mask, was warm, inviting. "Good evening, _Monsieur_ Dragon. Please come in." Stepping to the side, she motioned for him to enter.

He swept in to find Aurora sitting in her usual spot, reigning from her cozy-backed throne confidently. "Good evening, my Queen," he intoned with a charming smile, bowing at the waist to the Madam of the House. "Your great beauty and intelligence has Isis, herself, bowing at your feet."

Aurora surprised them both by bursting into laughter. "My dear Dragon, you are the _naughtiest _of men," the older woman teasingly chastised. "Come, sit and take a late tea with us."

He turned, took his lovely's hand in his – causing that familiar jump of magic between them that settled low in his abdomen, causing his blood to rush - and bowed low over her dainty knuckles, kissing them reverently. When he stood to his full height again, they stared into each other's eyes for long heartbeats, neither saying a word. He rubbed his thumb lazily across her fingers, enjoying the magical sparks that danced across his spine at each light caress. "I have missed you, my Princess," he spoke sincerely, feeling himself soften as he gazed into her dark, glimmering orbs. "Ten days was a torturous eternity to be away from your side."

Her rosy flush crept up her golden throat, and he was sure, under the velvet of her mask, her cheeks would similarly be inflamed. "I… _We_, Pyg and I, missed you as well," she smiled. "He has been dreadfully miserable for you since you last parted ways with us."

Her double meaning was clear. "Has _he_, now? Well, I shall endeavor to make up for that lack of caring tonight." Forcing his gaze away – _gods_, his heart was beating fast now – he looked about playfully. "And where is the little puffball, if I was so desperately pined for?"

To everyone's surprise, Pyg suddenly apparated – without the typical noise to accompany such action – into his Princess' hand. He trilled immediately, turning a blushing pink in color.

"Oh!" his lovely jumped in surprise. "Pyg, how did you-? Oh, my!" She glanced up at him. "Did you know he could perform magic?"

Slowly, Draco shook his head, curious himself over this event. "Puffskeins aren't known to be magical creatures. I believe this is the first time I have ever heard or seen such a thing."

"It would seem your gift, _Monsieur_ Dragon, was even rarer than expected," Madam Sinistra chimed in from the seating area.

Draco nodded absently, his gaze focused on Pyg. "Yes, so it would seem." Jarred back into the present, he reached under his arm and held out his newest endowment. "Speaking of gifts, I believe this is for you, my lovely." In a deft move, he swept Pyg into his own hands, and traded the little pet off for the gift-wrapped box. "Shall we?" he indicated they travel over to the settee to officially begin the evening's enterprises.

**X~~~~~X**

Hermione led her guest to the couches and sat down. To her excitement, The Dragon once more sat by her side, instead of (as polite decorum would usually dictate) across from her. Such familiarity bespoke of a specific affection for their 'relationship' on his part, and this encouraged her greatly.

Once they were settled, and Pyg happily trilling away on her suitor's lap (having turned blue now, clearly serene in the moment), Hermione began unwrapping the gift. The paper was of the finest stock. "From the Orient?" she asked, fingering the thick sheaf, noting the specific dying process that the Far East was most famous for. "The indigo dye is very tell-tale."

The Dragon's smile beamed. "You are truly a wondrous woman, my Princess. Yes, it is from Nippon."

Hermione glanced up at him in surprise. "But Nippon is closed to all foreigners. Even their wizards have shunned the rest of the world. How did you acquire this?"

Her beau's smile grew enigmatic. "The stock has been in the family for a long time."

Hermione could feel her eyebrows shoot into her forehead under her mask. "The country closed its borders in 1639. Are you telling me that this paper - which you used to wrap a gift in - is one hundred and seventy-six years old?"

"One hundred and seventy-seven, to be more precise," he chuckled. "It was traded before the country adopted its official policy of isolationism." He put his hand over hers, as it hovered over the present, and she felt his magic pass through her once more, pooling between her legs as liquid, silky warmth. "I did not realize you would recognize its uniqueness. If it offends you to tear the paper away with your fingers, then use your wand instead."

She did as suggested, folding the paper up carefully to keep. It was too rare and beautiful a thing to ruin.

As soon as that was done, she looked down at the rosewood, heart-shaped box that sat in her lap with something akin to awe. The gold inlaid scroll work around the edges and the mother-of-pearl rose in the center was exquisitely wrought. The box was clearly handmade by a master craftsman.

"Oh, it is _beautiful!_" she gasped in delight, running a fingertip over the whole of the lid, tracing the designs that had been so expertly carved into the wood. "Such magnificent work." Truly, she felt far too spoilt by this man sitting at her side. So many wondrous gifts he presented…

"Yes, magnificent," her suitor sighed, and she turned in wonder over the longing she heard in his tone. Silver steel captured and pinned her in place. "Lovely."

She licked her lips eagerly, innocently answering to the summons reflected in his eyes. "I do not recall using those particular adjectives," she stammered, trying for humor, but failing under the intensity of her feelings as The Dragon lifted a hand tremulously towards her cheek. Helplessly, Hermione leaned into the touch, closing her eyes for just a second, relishing the feel of their combined magical auras stroking very, very tentatively against the other.

Pyg's loud, pleased trilling broke the moment, and bubbling laughter erupted from her mouth before she could staunch its arrival. She pulled away from the gentle caress, and smiled down at her familiar as it sat – now rose red – in the hands of her suitor.

"It would seem, Madam Sinistra, that you have a helper chaperone for the evening," The Dragon sardonically remarked, holding the little puffball up between them and turning it about slowly in observation, a handsome smile tugging his lips.

Turning back to her gift, Hermione ran a smoothing hand over the cover of the box. "It truly is quite a charming gift. Thank you so very much," she began, but The Dragon cut her off by holding his free hand up, palm out.

"You haven't even opened it yet," he pointed at it. "The best part is still yet to come."

**X~~~~~X**

Draco watched as his Princess seemed amazed that there was more to his gift than simply an adorned rosewood container. Eagerly, he watched and waited, quelling his anxiousness, as his lovely removed the box lid…

…and gasped as the enticing aroma of sweet chocolate wafted through the space between them.

Pyg immediately illustrated the loudest trill he'd heard yet, changing a variety of shades of red and pink in obvious pleasure over the scent that filled the room.

"They're a new type of sweet, designed especially for you, my lovely. Try one," he offered as his beauteous courtesan inspected the neatly packed, round bon-bon truffles.

"Any one?" she asked, her eyes sparkling with the joy of new discovery.

He nodded. "There are a variety of flavors, but I think you may enjoy the dark brown one that has been draped with white." He recalled from his tour of J.S. Fry's confectionary kitchen that this kind was centered with a strawberry cream filling. He was sure these would be his Princess' favorite, if he knew her as well as he believed.

Hesitantly, she plucked one of his recommendations from the box and held it to her mouth. The vision of her rouged lips wrapping about the chocolate niblet and biting down gently, of her soft pink tongue lapping up some of the soft cream as it escaped, of the surprised, unadulterated joy that exploded upon her face with that first taste, and the rolling back of her eyes into their lids, followed up with an unfettered moan of delight that carried loudly throughout the room was one he would take to his bed with him that night (and many nights thereafter). That memory would be the channel to his fantasies for most likely the rest of his life, he realized, for he had achieved in her an almost orgasmic delight with his gift. Adjusting his seating to accommodate the sudden rush of blood to his member, Draco crossed his legs and leaned back against the settee's cushions, attempting for all the world to appear unaffected.

When the woman who owned his heart finished her delicacy, she turned a bright, childlike smile upon him. "That was the single-most decadent food I have ever partaken of! What is it called? Was it truly designed for me? How did you accomplish this?"

Draco chuckled. "Always so many questions from you. I answer one and ten more pop from that pretty mouth of yours," he boldly mocked. "Let me see if I am able to answer you satisfactorily, and preempt that curiosity of yours." He began petting Pyg's soft fur gently. "These are known as bon-bons, and they are, in fact, made of chocolate. A family friend is a confections expert, and this is his newest invention: enjoying the hot liquid beverage in a solid form. He has filled each type with a different cream flavoring as well." Smirking rather arrogantly, he felt the need to boast just a tad. "I _knew_ you would enjoy the strawberry fondant for your first taste, my lovely."

She gasped in delight. "Yes, that is exactly what I tasted: strawberries and cream. It was _delectable_!"

He nodded. "There is also dark chocolate, peppermint, orange and vanilla. My friend handcrafts each piece himself." He indicated the box in her lap with a nudge of his chin. "I had them made especially for you. You are the very first person in the whole world outside of Mr. Fry and myself to sample them, my Princess. Not even the Muggle Queen of England or the Wizengamot's High Inquisitor knows of their existence."

The Princess let her eyes linger hungrily over each individual candy. "The whole world should know of this new invention; these bon-bons are simply too wondrous a thing _not_ to share!" Her eyes lit up with an idea. "We should enjoy these together over tea," she offered. "That way, you can get a second sampling, and _Madame_ can try them for the first time, too!"

His woman's unrestrained generosity moved him, and gave him yet another basis from which to judge her most worthy. She was, as he had suspected from their second meeting, a giver, not a taker, and he found that position a perfect balance to his own temperament, which (he admitted) was in dire need of a complimentary component, as Draco knew himself to be rather selfish (a product of his only child upbringing). It was also rather becoming in a partner to be considerate, mindful and thoughtful of others, he honestly felt.

As Aurora summoned a house elf to bring them their refreshments, she turned a beguiling smile on him. "I would like to discover _your_ favorite flavor, dearest Dragon."

Snickering, he winked at her behind the mask. "Can you not guess, my lovely?"

Considering his earlier words, she looked over the box again, inspecting each bon-bon with an appreciative glance. "I will fathom that you are a fan of the darker chocolate, and that peppermint would be your preferred taste."

How well she had come to know him in such a short time! He acknowledged her correct deduction with a tilt of his head. "Very good, Princess. Peppermint _was_ my favorite of the batch. But how did you guess?"

Her face became a mask of mischievous haughtiness, mirroring his earlier one. "It was truly a rather manifest conclusion to come to, _Monsieur_, for everyone knows your preferred color is green."

**X~~~~~X**

They took their tea and all three of them sampled the chocolates, thoroughly overindulging and enjoying every moment of the conversation. Even Aurora, who typically remained emotionally disconnected from the proceedings, slipped her charge for that hour and engaged in the affable discourse.

Pyg, to Hermione's horror, absolutely went _mad_ for the treats, acting like a confections fiend, licking up the crumbs with that long tongue of his when he thought no one was looking. She even caught him twice reaching out to steal a bon-bon from the box surreptitiously (once, she even pretended not to see the act before it was too late, allowing him to swallow the thing - which was a quarter of his own size - whole). By the time they'd finished their tea, however, her little familiar was passed out, acting for all the world as if he had just consumed a large quantity of alcoholic beverages – tongue lolling out, occasionally hiccupping, snoring loudly, and bright orange in color.

"Oh, my," she intoned, picking him up and handing him off to Aurora, who took him gently between her cool hands. "He is completely sauced! I believe my little Pyg may have gorged himself on these sinfully delicious treats." She sighed in resignation, smoothing down her dress. An idea formed in her mind then as she stared out the open French doors of the Madam's room. The light scent of night blooming roses pervaded the evening, carried inward on the light summer breeze passing through the back gardens just beyond. "Speaking of gluttonous… would a small stroll through the back gardens to walk off those sybaritic splendors be permissible, Aurora? I am absolutely _horrified_ with my depraved consumption tonight, and worry as to the result to my waistline."

Aurora glanced at her, then at _Monsieur_ Dragon in contemplative silence for several heartbeats, and in that time, Hermione was careful to keep her face composed into features of the utmost innocence. In the vaults of her mind, however, she was praying that this plan would be allowed. She wanted to walk out with her suitor and spend some time in the fresh air with him, as she and Ginny had discussed over the last few days. The garden gazebo would afford them some privacy, she knew... It was her objective tonight to ask if her Dragon would care to venture a long-term intention upon her, and possibly to risk a clandestine kiss - neither action which could be undertaken with the _Madame's_ continued, hovering presence.

_Please allow it_, she begged wordlessly.

"I am not much for the night air, as my health limits my exposure to evening vapors, but I will trust you both in a casual circling of the gardens, if you wish," Aurora graciously granted. She turned an arch eye on the passed-out puff in her hands. "I will stay and assure your beloved familiar does not expire from his night of revelry."

Hermione's heart soared, but she struggled to keep her face neutral. Never in her wildest imaginings had she believed in a carte blanche, unattended allowance such as this!

"Thank you, Madam," she genially curtsied.

Aurora's return smile held a shrewd perception to the lift of its corners and in the flattening of her eyes behind her mask. "_Faites attention de ne pas dépasser les limites de votre contrat, mademoiselle. Il doit y avoir une enchère la semaine prochaine. Dois-je vous en rappeler les raisons encore une fois?__"_

(_See that you do not alter the terms of your contract, miss. There must be an auction next week. Am I required to remind you of the reasons again?_)

Shaking her head, Hermione looked contritely down at the floor. "_Non, Madame. Je n'oublierai pas._"

(_No, Madam. I will not forget._)

Satisfied, Lady Sinistra nodded, giving her exacting permission for The Dragon to take her out of sight, and into the darkness of the gardens alone.

**X~~~~~X**

Tucking his Princess' arm under his, the two moved out of the French doors, off the back porch of _La Cerise_ and into the enclosed back gardens. The moon was only half full, and already on its way towards setting, hidden as it was behind the tall frame of _La Cerise's_ walls, and so the light was just bright enough to see the white graveled path before them, but dark enough to blur their expressions to those beyond a comfortable sphere of visual acuity.

"You are full of surprises, my lovely," he complimented. "You speak fluent French as well?" Next to him, her body lightly brushing against his, the magic moving excitedly between them once more, his intended hummed in acknowledgement. "But I pick up no such accent when you speak. Even Madam Sinistra has a slight inflection to her vowels, giving her away as an expatriate of France. You? I hear no such intonation. That means you are a native English speaker, and that you have either studied the French language intently or…" He paused so he could glance at her out of the corner of his eye, around the mask, searching through the shadows for a hint of her reaction to his next words. "You were a student at Beauxbatons." She unwittingly stiffened at the latter suggestion, letting him know he'd guessed correctly. "Ah, a witch of the French school, then. Interesting."

"And you attended Hogwarts, I assume?"

He shrugged. "Or I might have matriculated from Durmstrang."

She shook her head firmly. "Your consonants do not carry the diacritical mark of a long-time speaker of a Slavic language."

They'd reached the back wall and moved off to the right, circling past a row of neatly trimmed, pink and green roses. He stopped her and leaned over to sniff a delicate blossom, encouraging her to do likewise. "Are you so familiar with the Russians then?" he inquired, wondering the depth of her knowledge.

"Bulgarians," she admitted. "I was present to witness the Tri-Wizard Tournament as held at Hogwarts during my school years, and befriended their champion."

Draco stiffened, trying to remember what he recalled of that competition during his own time at school.

He recalled that the nancy-boy, Harry Potter, had been a champion alongside Cedric Diggory. He recalled the lovely Beauxbatons blonde, Fleur Delacoeur, and her gaggle of female schoolmates enchanting all of the males in the castle, even that squib, Filch. For Durmstrang, he recalled… "Do you mean Viktor Krum?" he chanced, wondering if they'd gone to school at the same time, as it was difficult to place her age with that infernal mask in the way.

His lovely went vibrantly still next to him, her breathing stilled entirely. "I can say no more," she admitted, looking away towards the far end of the garden. "My contract terms are explicit."

Ah, so she _had_ gone to school at the same time as he had. He wondered just how good a friend she had become to Krum? He tried to remember back to those days, but could only pull up bits and pieces. In truth, he'd spent most of his Fourth Year cross with Potter's inclusion in the tournament, and resentful of the fame the boy had garnered for winning the competition.

Before he could consider the matter further, she pulled away from his touch, heading off down the path towards the gazebo. Bereft of her warmth, Draco hurried quickly back to her side, sweeping her arm back into the fold of his own. "I apologize," he intoned politely. "My _own_ curiosity, at times, overtakes my sense – especially where you are concerned, my lovely."

They walked in companionable silence those last few steps into the covered, arched pergola and Draco maneuvered them smoothly into the hidden space behind one trellis covered with thick roses. He turned on a knut and pressed in close to his lovely. Removing her hand from his arm, keeping it in his own, Draco assured he had them facing each other in a single, well-choreographed step. "Fully away from prying eyes at last," he breathed in relief, keeping a watchful look out from his peripheral vision for approaching trouble. His Princess' fingers trembled in his own. "Are you chilled?" It was the courteous thing for him to say, although he knew her shivering had nothing to do with the temperature outside of their small sphere of heat, and everything to do with their magical auras sliding across one another now in a seductive manner.

Shaking her head twice back and forth, her lovely curls swept off one shoulder, baring it to his purview. "This is a very compromising position and is truly against the rules," she whispered so low that only the two of them might hear. "If we should get caught, you could be disqualified... and yet, I find that I do not want you to move away, either."

He brought her small hand up to his lips and kissed her knuckles as he'd always wanted to – lingering the skin of his lips over each tiny joint. "I think it is safe enough for a few minutes."

His lovely angel sighed, and her soft breath tickled his cheek. "Only a few? So little time."

Her words made his heart flutter, and a smile slide up one side of his cheek. "Time enough, if you would permit me the attention."

She stared up at him, opened her mouth as if to speak, but quickly changed her mind and secured it closed. Then, as if debating internally, she took a deep breath, and her lips slightly parted once more, and it became painfully clear that she intended upon launching into a question that would prove uncomfortable for her. Draco waited her out, curious to watch the emotions flit through her dark eyes in the dim moonlight.

"Will you permit me an indiscretion, my Dragon?"

His grin positively beamed now. "_Your_ Dragon?" he asked, continuing to slide his lower lip over her fingertips, desperately wanting to reach out with his tongue and take one into his mouth. "I like the sound of that, Princess." She glanced down quickly, and he was sure that under the velvet of her mask, she must be blushing again. The gentleman in him thought he ought to stop teasing her, for it showed incredibly bad manners. Yet, their entire 'relationship' so far had been rather unorthodox, with shadowed innuendo passing between them from the very start, so why break tradition, now? "By all means, my lovely, be as indiscreet as you wish with me. I am sure I will enjoy every second of it."

Hesitantly glancing up again, she licked her lips. The sight of that soft, pink tongue wetting her skin over the exact spot he planned to kiss her in a few moments made him harden in his trousers immediately. "Very well," she began, reaching deep for her courage. Her quaking had moved up her body now, overtaking her marginally. "I wondered if it would be too bold to ask if you would exert all of your will to win me next Saturday." She raised her chin a little higher, trying for bravado. "Yo-you are the man I would most definitely choose to share such an… important experience... with."

Behind the solid mass of his ribs, Draco's heart pounded fiercely. He stared down at this beautiful woman before him, and fought hard not to drop to his knees, lift the hem of her dress, and worship her right there. "Are you saying your affections lie with me, then?" he asked, forgetting all posturing and getting to the meat of the matter. He wanted to know _so very much_ whether he truly lay in her heart as she did in his already.

The Princess nodded firmly, staring him in the eye now. "Yes, wholly with you – even though it is not permitted."

Tentatively Draco reached up a hand and brushed his thumb across her jaw line first, then moved ever so slowly, temptingly over her bottom lip. Such touching was absolutely forbidden, and yet, he couldn't seem to stop himself. Something inside promised him that he absolutely would not be leaving here tonight until he tasted those cherry lips of hers.

"Do you remember what I said to you the first night we met, before I departed your side?" he asked in a low, purposefully enticing voice, wanting to enchant her into stepping closer, closing the space between them so that there was only the crush of her body to his, no room for even the miniscule amount of light available in the garden to pass through.

She blinked and looked off to the side, over his shoulder, and he could tell she was trying to recall their conversation by the tiny frown that marred her perfect mouth. When understanding was finally met seconds later, she glanced back up at him through dark, thick lashes. "You agreed with me when I said you did not possess me."

He nodded. "Yes, but I also swore then and there to you that I would someday." He leaned closer, and in an audacious move, brought his mouth directly against her left ear, conveying them into intimate contact and changing the rules yet again. "I _will_ embrace your heart and your soul, my lovely, as you already hold mine captive." With more reckless foolishness than he ought to have shown, Draco pressed his lips to the delicate skin of her lobe. "And next Saturday, I will win you, and I will cherish every inch of your skin and venerate you with every inch of mine. I will love you as no man has ever loved another." His breath came more forcefully as he murmured his promise, and in response, he could feel hers quicken against his neck, as her nose was pressed to his collar. Gently cradling her quaking hands against his heart, he let her feel how it thundered for her, how much power she wielded over him against his very will.

Running his lips smoothly, slowly over the bottom edge of her mask, he trailed a path of hot breath and seductive intent as he inched closer to his ultimate destination. When he got there, he paused, hovering over her mouth, his forehead and hers meeting with equal force, holding them locked together in kinetic need that powerfully electrified the air, as their magical auras came together, danced, entwined. "I am lost to you, my Princess. Utterly lost."

His lovely took a deep, shuddering breath, and it was as ice-mint against his tongue when he parted his lips to capture a bit of her escaping air. "I feel the same," she admitted, her voice quavering. "I am consumed by you, my Dragon. By thoughts of you, dreams of you. But, after the auction…"

Nuzzling his nose against her mask, Draco sighed with longing. Now they had come to it, the professing of his future, enduring intentions. He spoke his truth, wanting her to understand, needing her to trust that this was no mere dalliance on his part. "A single night will never satisfy." He stroked her chin with his thumb again. "I want a lifetime of them with you, sweet angel. If you will consent, I will endeavor every day for the remainder of my life to make you the happiest of women."

Through a tiny gap in her mask, he felt the splash of a tear on the back of his hand, and when he pulled back, he caught the upsweep of her perfect lips, revealing her beaming with true joy. "I cannot wait to finally be yours," she whispered daringly, gripping his fingers tighter, her dark eyes glittering in the diffused light.

Feeling his own desire fire his blood up, he physically shook now as well, felt his breath kick up a measure. "Permit me a taste in preview?" he coaxed with a nervous smile of his own.

She paused only a second, and then nodded once. He leaned forward the miniscule space between them and softly, with patience he didn't even know he possessed, coupled their lips together at long last.

_Dear gods above, she was sweet! _Opening her mouth without prompting, she returned the brush of flesh on flesh with a small, eager whimper. It was evident she lacked experience, but her passion was genuine, and did more to enflame him than any other woman's kiss he had ever experienced. Draco groaned low as he deepened the melding of their mouths, allowing his tongue to leisurely dart out and trace the outline of her perfection, before dipping between the slit of her pink temptation and tentatively touching hers. He had his eyes open to catch her reaction, and watched enraptured as she discovered for the first time the charm of a French kiss. She gasped and her lids swept upwards to expose shocked, but eager brown-gold orbs. Trying not to smile, he closed his eyes and intensified the experience for them both, sweeping through the moist cavern of her mouth, twining his tongue around hers and pulling them apart slowly and languidly, tasting the chocolate they had indulged in earlier, savoring it for as long as possible before running out of air. He ended the connection with a smaller pull of lips before leaning back reluctantly.

It had been sheer magic, their first kiss, just as he'd dreamed. In his chest, he was bursting with lust and love for this beautiful woman. "You _will _be mine," he promised her rashly, then pressed his mouth to her ear again. "_Je t'aime, ma Princesse. Pour tout l'éternité, je vous aimerai._"

(_I love you, my Princess. For all eternity, I will love you._)

She gasped, and more tears brushed against his hand. He captured them all.

After composing themselves, they made a final trek across the garden to truly calm themselves on the night air. To his surprise, her night vision was rather acute and she picked for him a blue, red and white series of roses (all magicked not to have thorns), and handed each of them to him in that exact order. A student of floriography, he understood the significance of the colored flowers and her presentation of them to him.

Blue for love at first sight.

Red for true love.

White for eternal love.

A right handed pass - she was agreeable to his proposal.

Feeling as if he were flying his broom across the world at top speed, Draco was hard pressed to keep his all-consuming, burning joy and excitement under control. He wanted to whoop like a fool and swing her around in his arms. He wanted to kiss her fully on the mouth again and then see where it led them next without fear of reprisal. He wanted…

Aurora politely cleared her throat from the doorway, her silhouette casting a shadow across the pathway. "I believe your time is up, _Monsieur_. We have come to the end of this interview."

Waving his wand over the flowers, he made them miniscule, and tucked them into his inner jacket pocket. Then, he cordially took her arm once more and they returned to the false warmth of _La Cerise's_ walls.

Immediately, his lovely released him and moved towards a chair that had been tucked under the table across from where he'd taken his tea earlier. There, in the seat cushion, was the box he had been hoping and praying from that very first night weeks ago to one day receive. He knew, from rumor, what would be inside it – the symbol of his guaranteed place to bid next week. Gingerly, he accepted it from his lovely's hand when she proffered it.

"I humbly request you to attend next week's auction and stand as a bidder, Lord Dragon," his lovely curtsied low. "If you would accept, I would be most sincerely honored."

He bowed formally, with leg extended. "I am truly flattered to receive your invitation and unreservedly accept your offer, Princess. I thank you from my heart for this opportunity." He then bowed to Madam Sinistra. "And to you, great Queen of the Heavens, I am genuinely thankful for the offering of this most beautiful of treasures. I am forever in your debt for providing my heart's greatest desire."

Aurora bowed her head in acknowledgement of his praise and held her wrist out, and Draco stepped forward to kiss her chastely across the back of her hand, showing proper respect.

With the formalities done, he tucked his box under his arm, turned and made for the door. His Princess followed him out once more. At the exit, he spun about, reached out and once more placed a reverent kiss across his intended's fingers. "I will eagerly await that owl with the details tonight. I shan't sleep until it arrives." He dropped her hand and reached for the door, pulling it open.

In a split second, he realized that there was one final, little ritual they needed to complete… Turning about, he stopped the door from closing with one well-placed, booted foot. "I almost forgot, my lovely," he began, and she widened the gap a bit to hear him out. "There was the matter of a little green token-?"

Reaching up, the Princess showed off a pair of emerald-crusted hair combs. At least, that was the ruse. With her other hand, she indicated her waist, letting him know covertly that their ribbon was, in fact, tied about her undergarments. She gave him a sinful smile that made him flush hot and cold simultaneously.

"I never forget," she reminded him cheekily.

Lusty thoughts romping through his mind, Draco returned her expression, crease for crease. "See that you don't," he cheerfully played along, and then under his breath, barely a whisper: "Think of my kiss this week."

With that, he hurried away and the door closed behind him.

**X~~~~~X**

A darkly dressed figure moved out of an alcove in the hallway, watching the young Malfoy heir with burning hatred. "Toss me to the curb for that hideously unattractive bitch without a second thought, will you?" Astoria hissed under her breath. "We'll see about that!"

She slithered down the hall, keeping to the shadows, and slipped into her apartments once again, her plans to avenge herself upon her former lover keeping her toasty warm as she readied for her final client of the evening - Brun - withdrawing a set of velvet cuffed restraints and a small, leather Cat O' Nine tails. She changed into the style of short satin and lace nightdress he preferred, righting the garters that held up her stockings.

Things were coming along well with York, who had met his bidding end earlier tonight when he'd been cut from The Princess' line-up. The fop had come to Aster in tears, and she'd soothed him, of course, inviting him back on the morrow, promising an afternoon and evening of unparalleled delight (which he'd eagerly accepted). Already, the dark wizard ate out of her hand. With his embittered rejection, she knew she'd have an ally for what she'd hope to accomplish in regards to destroying Draco Malfoy's happiness this next week.

All it would take was a little lust potion... and a two-way mirror.

* * *

_**TO BE CONTINUED…**_

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**AUTHOR'S NOTES:**

_**Bleu, Rouge et Blanc**_** = The title of this chapter is French for "Blue, Red and White," in reference to the roses.**

_**Thirty and five years**_** = Thirty-five years (an old manner of counting).**

_**Gurkha's**_** = The world's most expensive cigar currently. "His Majesty's Brand" is the crème de la crème of the company's various cigar brands. For the sake of this fic, I am playing on that name to invent a brand that doesn't really exist in real life (i.e. **_**His Moest Highe and Maeghty Warlock's Reserve**_**).**

_**Tawny Port**_** = Tawny ports have almond and other nutty tastes. They come in 10 year and 40+ year old blends, typically. Older Tawnies, while complex, have a very soft/low volume of flavor, which can be overpowered by a strong cigar. For that reason, a younger Tawny (a 10 year blend) is always paired with cigars if they are to be indulged in together. Just a fun fact for you!**

**Nippon = The Japanese word for Japan, and Britain during this time period.**

**Japan had a policy of isolationism starting in the 17th century, and ending in the middle of the 19th century, when the Shogunate was overthrown in a civil war and the Emperor restored to power (the Meiji Restoration). During the isolationist period, outsiders were not allowed to trade or live on the island; Japan was, literally, an island unto itself. Those caught breaking this rule were typically crucified by the Tokugawa Shogunate, the ruling faction during this era.**

**For the sake of this fanfic, I have decided that chocolate is NOT poisonous to Puffskeins. It does, however, make them quite drunk, which has the effect of making them incredibly sleepy. **

_**Floriography**_** = As discussed in the previous chapter's notes, floriography (or the language of flowers, as invented during the Regency & Victorian Era) was a way for suitors and their intended to 'talk' to each other without words. Flower types and colors all have significance, and how they were given (right or left handed) determined a person's response to the suit. **


	6. Timeline of Events

**AUTHOR'S NOTES: **

**I am currently working on the next chapter to this fic. It's half done. In the meantime, I've received numerous PMs from readers confused about timeframes for this story, so this chapter is nothing more than a timeline of events to help you understand what happened before this fic takes place (event prior to chapter 1, which are vital to the story) and includes a synopsis of each chapter (as well as GIVES YOU NEW INFORMATION that happened in the background that is kind of fun to know). Also GIVES A SNEAK PEEK ABOUT WHAT'S COMING UP IN FUTURE CHAPTERS!**

**PLEASE REVIEW and let me know if this timeline was beneficial to your framing the story correctly...**

**... and don't worry, the next chapter is coming in a few days. ^_^**

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_**TIMELINE OF EVENTS **_

**January-April, 1785**

Tom Riddle (a.k.a. Lord Voldemort) rises to power and threatens the Ministry of Magic with his army of Death Eaters. Their goal is the death or subjugation of anyone not of pureblood wizarding descent. Voldemort is soundly defeated and killed in a massive rally led by Albus Dumbledore, members of The Order of the Phoenix, and an army of Aurors from the Ministry. Those Death Eaters who are not captured or killed outright in the various battles during these long months scatter themselves to the four winds. Since these men and women remained incognito under Death Eater masks during the entirety of the war, no one outside of the Death Eater's camp knows the identities of their fellow conspirators, and many of those who once followed He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named (as Voldemort's name is stricken from all wizarding memory as a result) return to their previously interrupted lives, none the wiser. Included in this group are Abraxas Malfoy, the Baron of Swindon, his eighteen year old son, Lucius Malfoy, and Lucius' same-age school mate, Severus Snape.

**Early May, 1785**

The wizarding world recovers from Voldemort's short-lived reign of terror relatively quickly, and very soon, business is prospering again in Diagon Alley. Thriving amidst the newly flowing coin and the need for many to forget the war by drowning themselves in a good woman, _La Cerise_, the well-established Gentleman's Club situated in the heart of the Alley, changes its rules abruptly and adopts the use of masks and aliases for all patrons and working women (for anonymity's sake). The fashion is seen as _nouveau chic_ and soon, other contemporary clubs across Europe adopt the same idea.

**June 8, 1785**

_La Cerise_ announces its first Virgin Auction in almost thirty years, introducing a woman who is given the alias, 'La Comtesse.' Right away, this beauty attracts the attention of two dozen possible suitors – the most any courtesan from an equivalent establishment of _La Cerise's_ character has garnered anywhere, including on the continent of Europe. Her suit is determined for only four weeks, with the auction occurring at the end of that time.

**June 20, 1785**

The Madam of _La Cerise_ writes in the Madam's Journals her thoughts on the current Virgin Auction taking place in the house. She makes the observation that one of the suitors, a man named 'The Patrician,' has a very special, powerful and magical connection to the current virgin up for sale. That connection is enough to make everyone around them feel it whenever the two touch, even innocently. Their unique bond moves the Madam's heart.

**July 1, 1785**

The Madam of _La Cerise_ writes in the Madam's Journals her further thoughts on the current Virgin Auction taking place in the house. She notes that it is certain that 'The Patrician' intends to win the auction for 'La Comtesse,' even if he has to defy everyone – including his father, who it is revealed is the Owner of _La Cerise_. The Madam reveals that she is confused with the Owner's vocalized unhappiness regarding the match of his son to 'La Comtesse,' as the woman hails from the "noble house of Black," which is known to be pureblood for the last several generations, and can trace its lineage back eight centuries. That one of this virgin's great ancestors – a Muggle nobleman, who was the Duke of Burgundy in 10th century France – was not a wizard is, to the Madam authoress, irrelevant given the woman's unique and fascinating lineage.

**July 17-30, 1785**

The Madam of _La Cerise_ hires workers to secretly help clear out the clutter in the basement of the building and break down the trick walls and flooring that hide the house's true foundation.

**July 31, 1785**

The Madam of _La Cerise_ writes in the Madam's Journals a vague entry about hiring the help to tear up the basement, and explains what she discovered as a result of that investigation: a series of ancient, powerful runes that appear to be dark magic in nature, carved into all four walls and the flooring that make up the foundation of the house. The Madam cannot translate the runes, however, and remarks that she intends on hiring someone in secret who can be brought in for this purpose. This is the last entry by that particular Madam. Her fate is not recorded.

**September 19, 1793**

Hermione Jean Granger is born to Richard and Eleanor Granger in Godalming in England.

**April 4, 1794**

Blaise Tarek Zabini is born to Ashraf Bayhas and Francesca Zabini in Rome in Italy.

**June 5, 1794**

Draco Lucius Malfoy is born to Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy in Wiltshire in England. Severus Snape is named as the boy's godfather.

**July 31, 1794**

Harry James Potter is born to James and Lily Potter in Godric's Hollow in England.

**August 11, 1795**

Ginevra Molly Weasley is born to Arthur and Molly Weasley in Ottery St. Catchpole in England.

**Early-June, 1805**

Severus Snape makes clear to his long-time acquaintance, Abraxas that any association they previously shared is at a permanent end. He cuts all ties to the man in an attempt to salvage what little of a life he can for himself and to set a good example for his godson.

_Madame_ Aurora Sinistra flees France to escape Napoleon's revolution. She takes a position first within the shop of a friend (Madam Malkin) selling women's fashion in Diagon Alley, but as soon as she hears that _La Cerise_ is seeking a new House Madam, she applies for the position. Having been a Madam back in France for a lesser Gentlemen's establishment, her credentials, references and personal charm are all tested by the Owner of the House. Five days later, Aurora becomes the new Madam of _La Cerise_.

**September, 1805**

Hermione goes to school for her First Year at Beauxbatons Academy in France.

Harry and Draco go to school for their First Year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in Scotland.

**December 25, 1805**

Draco's favorite memory as a child comes from this day: he'd woken up that morning and found his mother sitting in her favorite reading chair in front of a roaring hearth, the family's Yule tree magically lit up behind her. He'd recalled how the room had smelled of cinnamon and evergreen and her morning spiced tea, and she was wearing a beautiful, red velvet dress. She'd been a vision of refinement and loveliness to the impressionable eleven-year old, who decided then and there that one day he would find a beautiful and charming woman for his own wife – someone who had his mother's grace, intelligence and refinement.

**December, 1806**

The Potters approach their next door neighbors, The Grangers, about uniting their families, seeing as how their children get on famously (Hermione and Harry have been best friends since they were in nappies together). The parents make a marriage contract together, without the input of their children. The contract terms are extremely strictly laid out:

1. The marriage is to take place by July 31st, 1815 (Harry's twenty-first birthday)

2. The marriage will be a permanent binding. There will be no divorce, no setting aside or even cheating allowed.

3. Neither set of parents are allowed to divulge the contents of the engagement until Hermione's 21st birthday.

4. The contract cannot be undone under pain of death, as it the magical equivalent of an Unbreakable Vow.

5. The dowry to be paid for Hermione's hand by her parents to the Potters is set at 100,000 galleons.

**Late August, 1807**

Hermione goes into Diagon Alley with her parents to get her school supplies, and visits _Magical Menagerie_ on a whim. A half-breed Kneazle reaches out to grab her from between the bars of its cage as she passes by. The creature is a full adult by then (aged five years), and the pet shop owner tries to warn her off from this purchase, claiming the cat-like creature is badly tempered and not half as smart as a Kneazle should be, and won't live as long as either species, being a half-breed. Still, Hermione's heart caves at the sight of the animal's pug-nosed face, and she purchases him immediately using the money she'd earned over the summer babysitting and exchanged at Gringotts for galleons. She names her new pet, 'Crookshanks,' and he becomes her very first familiar.

**Mid-January, 1811**

Narcissa dies in a tragic Floo accident coming home from a shop in Knockturn Alley.

Lucius is devastated by his wife's loss and begins drowning himself in alcohol to forget his sorrows.

The next day, Abraxas collects Draco, his grandson, from Hogwarts, and explains what happened on the way back to Malfoy Manor in Wiltshire. Draco is also devastated by Narcissa's loss, but does not cry for the next several days, until the day of her funeral. When he sees his mother's casket is closed, because what remains there were of her were too horrible to look at, the sixteen-year old boy finally breaks down and weeps on his knees in front of his mother's coffin. It is his godfather, Severus, who helps Draco to his feet and supports the boy through the rest of the ceremony, as Lucius is nowhere to be seen just then (the man is in actually roaring drunk and lying in the bed he shared with Narcissa, weeping his tears in private).

After a thorough investigation, the Aurors make a full report a few days later. They make it clear that they suspect Abraxas' hand in the matter of Narcissa's death, but cannot prove this to be true given the lack of evidence.

A week after the funeral, Draco is returned to school by Severus' gentle, guiding hand.

**Mid-February, 1811**

Abraxas appears at Hogwarts to collect his grandson again, this time explaining to Draco that his father is also dead, having poisoned himself by overindulging in liquor.

There is a close casket funeral the next day. Draco does not weep for his loss this time until he is finally alone in his bed, late that night.

Draco gets his first experience of Abraxas' true temper two days later, as the man hauls off on him soon after Lucius' _Last Will and Testament_ is read, and it is decreed that Draco shall obtain sole possession of Malfoy Manor in Wiltshire and half of Lucius' bank vault total upon his seventeenth birthday (and until such a time, the vault will be sealed shut and no withdrawals would be allowed). The remaining half of Lucius' wealth would be split in half again: one part would be given to Abraxas posthaste, and the remainder would be placed in the care of Severus to help pay for Draco's schooling requirements.

Draco returns to Hogwarts to finish out his education, biding his time for his inheritance to mature, hatred for his cruel grandfather souring his heart.

**June 5, 1811**

Draco is legally recognized as an adult in the wizarding world. He legally comes into his inheritance (a sizable sum of money, plus his familial Manor House in Wiltshire), and as soon as the transfer occurs, he kicks his grandfather, Abraxas, out of his home and tells the cruel man that he wants no further relationship with him. Severus is there to back Draco up and protects the young man from his grandfather's presumed backlash.

Abraxas retires to a townhouse in London (he purchases it using the money Lucius had willed him years previous).

**Mid-June, 1812**

Draco graduates from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in Scotland. His three best male friends (Blaise Zabini, Vincent Crabbe, and Gregory Goyle – they graduate at the same time as Draco) attend him, as does his godfather, Severus.

Harry graduates from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in Scotland. His parents, the entire Weasley family, and his best female friend, Hermione, attend him.

**Mid-to-Late June, 1812**

Hermione graduates from Beauxbatons Academy in France. Her parents and her best male friend, Harry, attend her.

Harry enters the Auror internship program two days later.

**August, 1812**

Hermione gets a job as a law librarian within the Department of Magical Law Enforcement within the Ministry of Magic.

**January, 1813**

Harry graduates from his internship program and becomes a full-fledged Auror working for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement within the Ministry of Magic.

Draco meets with Madam Sinistra of _La Cerise_ for an interview to determine whether he is acceptable to patron the establishment. The Madam takes to him within half an hour and he is invited to partake of the House delights. She tells him that for the first six months of his patronage, all visits are paid up front in cash (not credit notes), then once he establishes himself as a regular client to the House, a tab payable in full at the end of every month will be set-up for him. She gives him his choice of a mask, and he chooses a black leather piece with a silver teardrop running from the left eye (in memory of his lost parents). The Madam decides that his alias within the House will be 'The Dragon' or '_Monsieur_ Dragon,' and she gives him a run-down of the House rules regarding proper etiquette and treatment of the women, which he is informed are absolute and unforgiving should they be broken. Draco begins that night his patronage of _La Cerise_.

**June, 1813**

Ginevra graduates from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in Scotland. Her entire family attends her.

Three weeks later, Ginevra enters _La Cerise_ to begin her courtesan internship. She adopts the moniker 'La Renard Rouge' ('The Red Fox').

**May, 1814**

Harry begins his acquaintance of Luna Lovegood. They fall in love with each other rather quickly.

**August, 1814**

Harry is promoted to Captain within the Auror program – the youngest to be so named in over one hundred years. The promotion gives Hermione enough courage to try for a promotion of her own at work. She puts in her application to become an apprentice paralegal.

Draco meets the newest courtesan to _La Cerise_, 'Aster' (Astoria Greengrass) a very delightful, platinum blonde who knows her trade well. He begins adding her to his rotation of women.

**Early September, 1814**

Draco loses one of his trading ships (a spice merchant vessel) somewhere in the vicinity of the Madeira Islands to a giant sea serpent's attack. The ship and cargo are completely lost, as is the crew.

Hermione's application to be an apprentice paralegal is accepted and she is to be assigned to an up-and-coming, young Wizengamot lawyer named Dean Thomas the following summer (as the internship programs begin each June and Hermione has missed her chance this year).

**September 19, 1814**

Hermione turns 21 years old. Her parents inform her of the marriage contract that had previously been made on her behalf with the Potters. Despairing, she informs Harry of the contract made on his behalf. The two begin intensive research in between their jobs to try and find a loophole to exploit to get out of the contract, as neither is in love with the other.

**Late November, 1814**

Draco loses another trading vessel at sea, this time to the siren's call of mermaids around the Cape of Good Hope.

**Early February, 1815**

Hermione's long-time companion familiar, Crookshanks, dies. She is heartbroken, and throws her energies into her research, hoping to find a loophole to the marriage contract soon.

Draco enters into an exclusivity agreement with 'Aster' at _La Cerise_. He believes she is the best of the lot available for a prospective wife. He is not, however, in love with her, and he makes that rather clear (he is, in fact, suspicious that she is only after his title and money). As a result, he hesitates on finalizing their relationship with a marriage proposal and a promise to buy out 'Aster's' contract, instead committing to her only insofar as he agrees not to visit another courtesan's bed.

**Late February, 1815**

Hermione finds an ancient law that allows her to get out of her marriage contract with Harry, but the stipulation is that she must pay back the dowry paid to the Potters, plus exceed it by no less than a single galleon. The caveat is that she has to earn the money herself before the marriage is to take place; she cannot borrow the funds, use an inheritance to pay the funds, or be gifted the funds. She must earn the money by her own merits.

A few days later, Hermione hears of _La Cerise_, the Masked Gentleman's Club that caters to Virgin Auctions (many of which net easily over 100,000 galleons, she learns). She considers all her options, and realizes that selling her virginity to the highest bidder is the _only_ way to settle her debt and cancel the marriage contract with Harry before his 21st birthday deadline.

**Mid-March, 1815**

After two weeks of hounding Harry that the idea of selling her virginity represents the quickest way of earning the money to buy off the dowry debt, Hermione finally receives the required capitulation from her fiancée to apprentice herself to _La Cerise_ (although Harry absolutely _does not_ like the idea of her giving away her virginity in such a fashion, no matter how reputable the establishment of Gentlemen's auctions are; he is reluctant to allow Hermione to do what she must, and feels unmanned by such a sacrifice, but he relents).

The next day, Hermione and Harry Apparate to _La Cerise_ for a private interview with Madam Aurora Sinistra, the House Madam. The woman agrees to accept the application for review.

Madam Sinistra hires private investigators to uncover the lineage of Hermione to determine her acceptability for a Virgin Auction.

**April 1, 1815**

Madam Sinistra learns from her private investigators that Hermione is not of pureblood wizarding stock (in fact, she is Muggle-born, with no trace of a wizard or witch in her family back several generations). However, Hermione _is_ of _very_ noble Muggle stock: her father's ancestry hails from the last of the Austrian House of Hapsburg directly; she is the only great-grandchild of the Archduchess Maria Anna and Prince Charles Alexander of Lorraine (making her one of the last descendants of the Holy Roman Emperor's lineage). However, Hermione knows nothing of her unique heritage, and was raised by middle-class parents who had no idea of their claim to title either. Despite this failing, Aurora approves Hermione's request for the Virgin Auction, finding her title – Muggle as it is – to be more than an adequate a trade-off to lack of blood purity status. She owls Hermione to pack her things and move into _La Cerise _immediately to begin her formal training as a courtesan.

Hermione arrives at _La Cerise_ that night and signs the standard Auction contract. She is then secreted away in her own set of apartments, near Madam Sinistra's own, on the opposite end of the house from the other women working in the establishment.

**April 1 – May 24, 1815**

Hermione undergoes intensive training on the art of courtesan mannerisms. She learns the etiquette of conversational socializing (including public speaking, flirting and seduction, letter writing, and floriography), fashion and beauty techniques, proper dining, singing, and dancing. In the end, Madam Sinistra finds her to be a model student, having perfected all lessons in a quick amount of time, and they decide to set a date for the Virgin Auction to begin officially in a few days. Madam Sinistra assigns Hermione the alias, 'The Princess' and picks out an official mask for her (a black velvet, butterfly-shaped covering with black satin ribbons for the tie). She then brings in dress makers (some fellow ex-patriots from France who have moved to England to avoid Napoleon's revolution as well) to quickly turn around a series of dresses for each of the four interviews, for the formal dance, and for the final auction for Hermione. The cost of the dresses, as well as room and board within _La Cerise_ for her entire stay, she tells Hermione, will come out of her final auction value. That final price will be 14,000 galleons.

Hermione befriends the resident house elf, Dobby, at _La Cerise_, but offering him pretty things to give to his the female house elf, Winky, who worked with him (and who he was trying to woo).

Hermione takes the time to pen a request for her apprenticeship as a paralegal within the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to be temporarily suspended for one year, due to 'personal health reasons' (which is true, from a certain point of view, for giving up her virginity will assuredly affect her overall health, she reasons). The one-year moratorium is allowed by the Ministry, and Hermione is assured she will have a place waiting for her in June of 1816, although the lawyer tutor may not be the same, she is cautioned. She writes a thank you note and agrees to the terms of the postponement.

**June 2, 1815**

Draco sees 'The Princess' for the first time at _La Cerise_ as the woman is debuted as the newest courtesan and walked about by Madam Sinistra this evening. He is convinced by his best friend, Blaise ('The Italian') to get an introduction (this is the first time Blaise speaks ill of 'Aster' to Draco directly, and persuades the man to instead give the new girl a try). Convinced, Draco maneuvers his way into Madam Sinistra's good enough graces to be formally introduced to 'The Princess.' The first time he touches the new courtesan's hand, magical sparks fly between them that surprises them both, and everyone about them. Draco secures an invitation to a first interview that night upstairs in Madam Sinistra's private sitting room, and realizes that 'The Princess' will not be a new courtesan at the House; she is, instead, to be a Virgin Auction.

Hermione meets many potential suitors this night for a first interview (although she does not know any of the men by their real name, family information or occupation, only by their alias). The list includes: 'The Prince' (Cormac McLaggen, son of a wealthy Earl who had an impressive pedigree, with ties to every major Pureblood family in Europe), 'The Etruscan' (Marcus Flint, Chaser on Heidelberg Harriers Quidditch Team), 'Knot' (Theodore Nott, son of a German Margrave, and a well-known patron and philanthropist to the Arts), 'The Lawyer' (Dean Thomas, a prominent Wizengamot lawyer), 'Jer' (Jeremy Stretton, son of a Baron and investor in the largest copper mine in the world), 'Boot/Bootsey' (Terry Boot, director of three critically-acclaimed plays), 'Finchy' (Justin Finch-Fletchley, son of a Knighted Lord). She also meets 'The Italian' (who makes it clear he's only meeting her out of curiosity, and has no interest in being a suitor), who she impresses with her knowledge.

Upstairs later in Madam Sinistra's private chambers, Hermione spend a bit of time with 'The Dragon' and they hit it off, flirting outrageously with each other. As 'The Dragon' touches Hermione's hand in good night conveyance, magic jumps between them again, making them very aware of each other.

Draco returns to his Manor House in Wiltshire and immediately owls the private investigator he keeps on retainer to look into the identity of 'The Princess,' as well as all of her suitors.

**June 3-4, 1815**

Hermione meets many more potential suitors over the course of the next few days, including: 'Vivi' (Anthony Rickett, son of a Baron and lead violinist in the London Wizard's Symphony Orchestra), 'Argonaut' (Jason Swann, scholar and university professor of Greek classics), 'Wolf' (Bill Weasley, a wealthy entrepreneur and world-renown Curse Breaker), 'Gold' (Anthony Goldstein, a famous jeweler for the Muggle British Crown and an exporter of rare & precious gems), 'The Accountant' (Zacharias Smith, only human investor to ever be allowed to join Gringotts Wizarding Bank's Board of Directors), 'Scots' (Oliver Wood, Keeper-Captain of the Kenmare Kestrals Quidditch Team), 'Four' (Evan Rosier Jr., Chaser on the Ballycastle Bats Quidditch Team), 'Irish' (Seamus Finnegan, wealthy part-owner of the Ballycastle Bats), 'Maxsee' (Maximus Brankovitch III, Seeker-Captain of the winning Fitchburg Finches Quidditch Team), 'Loc' (Malcolm Preece, current Editor-in-Chief of _The Daily Prophet's_ Sports Section), 'Chef' (Adrian Pucey, Master Chef to the Muggle British royal family), 'York' (Philip Cadwallader, world-famous inventor of the Volubilis Potion), 'Brun' (Roger Davies, of a Knighted Lord who owned merchant shipping vessels), 'Raven' (Michael Cormer, son of a Viscount and a Baroness), 'Charmer' (Ernie Macmillan, child prodigy, and Head of the Charms Department at Hogwarts), 'Shakespeare' (Graham Montague, a famous stage actor), 'Politico' (Nigel Wespert, Political Ambassador for Britain in the International Confederation of Wizards), and 'Whit' (Kevin Whitby, author of seven bestselling comedy-adventure books). All are invited to the initial (first) interview.

**June 4, 1815**

Draco receives an owl from his private investigator telling him he needs to hire three additional investigators to collate all of the information he wants on 'The Princess' and her suitors, because the list of men interested in the chit is large – more than any other courtesan in known history, in fact.

**June 6, 1815**

Draco receives a letter late that night from Madam Sinistra (copied to all potential suitors for 'The Princess') outlining the rules of the Virgin Auction in concise terms: first, there is to be no attempt made to meet up with 'The Princess' outside of the confines of each suitor's allotted times - and Madam Sinistra will personally be chaperoning each meeting. Second, 'The Princess' requests complete anonymity before she is won, so there will be absolutely no private background investigation of her life tolerated. Third, there is to be absolutely no magical cheating allowed of any kind – be it by spell, by item or by potion. And finally, and most important, Madam Sinistra will not tolerate sabotage of suitors and their chances for consideration by 'The Princess.' Madam Sinistra threatens that if she so much as sniffs a hint of any rule breaking, she will reject the man in question from the bidding immediately, even if it is at the last second. Overall, Madam Sinistra expects every gentleman to behave well towards each other and to 'The Princess,' and for this to be a fair auction, reminding them all that any future opportunities with other candidates depends upon how the previous enterprise is conducted. Draco is disheartened by this list of rules, as it severely curtails his ability to use his Slytherin traits to win over his suit's affections. However, in exchange, 'The Princess' did agree that to the man who wins her virginity, he will also be able to remove her mask and know her given name when they are finally alone in the bed chamber. That is enough of an enticement for Draco to want to continue playing the game.

**June 7, 1815**

Draco's investigative team lets him know all about 'The Princess' suitors, but they can find nothing on the woman herself. He calls them off in fear of being ejected from the Auction because of Madam Sinistra's rules.

**June 8, 1815**

Draco Apparates to the location where he has researched and been told the Queen of the Encantado (a race of magical shape-shifting beings known for their beautiful songs; related to mermaids/sirens) goes for her monthly mating on land with whatever hapless human passes nearby. In exchange for magically capturing her beautiful mating song inside a Wentletrap seashell (which he brings in advance for this exact purpose) , he agrees to have sex with the Queen (he casts a spell on himself in advance to make his sperm dormant and ineffectual so he will not breed with the shape-shifting creature). It is a very vigorous and enjoyable sexual experience, but not one Draco will ever care to repeat, as it leaves him rather exhausted. It takes him two hours to recover enough strength to Disapparate back to his home, and once there, he collapses into his bed and sleeps for another eight hours straight.

**June 9, 1815**

Draco arrives to _La Cerise_ early that evening for his second interview with 'The Princess.' Blaise is there with 'Le Renard Rouge,' his lady of choice. He tells Draco that 'Knot' has come earlier for his interview, and that currently, 'Wolf' is in his secluded conference with 'The Princess.'

Blaise notices the red-headed guard in the corner of the room minutes later, and asks 'Le Renard Rouge' who the man is. She refers to the guard as 'The Keeper,' but will say no more about him, even when Blaise asks her why the guard keeps looking at him with murder in his eyes. The two get into a small tiff about it, and Blaise makes his possessiveness of the courtesan in his arms known out loud, referring to 'Le Renard Rouge' as 'his woman.' The redheaded courtesan makes it clear that without a ring on her finger, she is no one's woman, and is up for grabs. In a fit of jealousy, Blaise takes the witch upstairs to her room to privately prove to her that she is, in fact, _his _woman.

When it is time for his interview, Draco's gift to 'The Princess' that evening is the Wentletrap shell containing the magical song of the Queen of the Encantado. 'The Princess' is enchanted by the song. The two spend the remainder of their time together debating the lore of magical beasts (he doesn't believe in Lethifolds or the existence of the Minotaur of Crete, but she does; he believes in Puffskeins, since his mother once owned one, but she doesn't). During this discourse, Draco realizes that 'The Princess' isn't just beautiful, genteel and witty, but she's _incredibly _intelligent and fascinating. He's quickly becoming enchanted by her.

Hermione meets with more appointments after 'The Dragon,' including: 'Charmer,' 'Lawyer,' 'Whit,' 'Politico,' 'Argonaut,' and 'Scots,' She rejects the first four for the next round of interviews, but invites back 'Argonaut' and 'Scots.' She also previously invited back 'Knot' and 'Wolf.'

**June 10-11, 1815**

Hermione meets with the remainder of her suitors invited for the second round during these two days, but ends up cutting 'Raven,' 'Shakespeare,' and 'Finchy' as well from the third round. Everyone else gets an invite back.

Draco orders a new outfit tailored with a fast turn-around for his next appointment with 'The Princess.' He also begins hunting down the family that has cornered the market on Puffskein breeding, and manages to arrange an appointment for Monday to come see their newest litter.

Hermione discusses with Madam Sinistra any entanglements that her suitors might have with other women within the House. This is when she learns that 'The Dragon' has been in an exclusive agreement with 'Aster' for her physical affections for the last several months, but that the man has not yet approached the Madam to buy out 'Aster's' contract.

**June 12, 1815**

Hermione gets her menses that morning and is slightly cranky.

Hermione approaches Madam Sinistra that early afternoon with the request that she get a chance to see the act of love through illustrations in books, having never witnessed it before. Madam Sinistra believes, however, that only seeing such a thing in person will make an impression on her charge, and so agrees to show Hermione some of the women in the house engaging in sexual liaisons live behind the two-way mirrors that have been set-up in between every room (for clients who liked to pay to be voyeurs).

Hermione returns to her rooms soon after to make up her lists of the suitors, both pros and cons, so she can consider her next move with each man.

Draco Apparates over to the home of the Puffskein breeders to inspect their newest batch for sale. He sees one that is very rare – a male metamorph (it can actually change colors at will) that has been bred to live ten years (instead of the average three years). It is the runt of the lot, but it is the most unique, so he purchases it for his next gift to 'The Princess.' He also purchases a book the breeders have written on the care and feeding of Puffskeins, assuming 'The Princess' will need it for her new pet.

Later that night, Hermione is required to meet with two suitors for their third round of interviews: 'Irish' (who'd been a tad drunk and seemed to have a problem with alcohol) and 'Maxsee' (who was clearly a chauvinist). She cuts both men from the line-up as a result of their obvious character flaws.

Draco skips out on his weekly port and cigars with Blaise, Vincent and Gregory over at _The Rook's Club_, preferring a quiet evening alone to detail in his private journal all his thoughts about the auction and 'The Princess' to date.

**June 13, 1815**

Hermione watches behind the mirror as 'The Italian' makes love to 'Le Renard Rouge.' Hermione finds the entire session to be beautiful, romantic and realizes that this type of love making is what she wants to have happen to her the first time.

Hermione meets with the next two suitors for their third round of interviews: 'Knot' and 'Gold.' Both interviews went off rather well, so she'd invited both back for the fourth round.

**June 14, 1815**

Hermione watches behind the mirror again as 'Lynceus' and his twin 'Idas' (Fred and George Weasley) engaged in a sexual liaison with 'Angel' (Angelina Johnson) in a double-penetration show that left Hermione recognizing the difference between sex and love making.

Hermione meets with 'The Dragon' for his third interview. He gifts her with a very rare, color-shifting (metamorph) Puffskein. Hermione names the adorable creature 'Pygmy' or 'Pyg' for short. It is instant adoration between her and her new, fuzzy familiar, who displays his unique talent (as if showing off) to her by changing colors five times in the first hour. He includes a book on Puffskeins for Hermione to read, so she may know how to care for her new pet.

Draco realizes during his interview with 'The Princess' that he is falling in love with her. After their satisfying meeting, where he is invited for a fourth interview, Draco Apparates over to Blaise's house and they discuss the interview, and how 'The Princess' enchants Draco thoroughly. Blaise admits he knows how that feels, and it is obvious he is speaking of 'Le Renard Rouge.'

That night, back at his home, Draco receives the next invitation by Madam Sinistra for his fourth interview time – ten days hence. He is disappointed with the time between, but decides that he can use the time to hunt down the next perfect gift for the woman he has fallen in love with. He sends the owl back to Madam Sinistra with his acceptance of the invite immediately.

Hermione meets with her final appointment of the night after 'The Dragon' leaves – 'Scots.' He is invited to join in the fourth round.

**June 15, 1815**

Draco sends 'Aster' a letter very early that morning via owl terminating their exclusivity agreement, and encourages her to look elsewhere for future prospects.

Madam Sinistra meets with the Owner of _La Cerise_ for their semi-annual business appointment to discuss the financial and social situation of the house. She discusses Hermione's credential, and the Owner is not happy that the virgin isn't a pureblood. Madam Sinistra convinces the Owner that the Virgin Auction is garnering a lot of attention and business, and that it would be a bad idea to end it. The Owner agrees, but demands that 'The Dragon' be eliminated from the bidding before the final auction. He does not give a reason, but Madam Sinistra convinces him to let her handle it – to allow 'The Dragon' to stay until the very last moment, so that it will increase the bidding frenzy. The Owner agrees, but makes it clear that if she fails to eliminate 'The Dragon' in time, he will be _most_ displeased (the malevolent threat hangs in the air between them). This frightens Madam Sinistra immensely, and sets off her curiosity as to who the Owner really is, and what past Madams thought about him. She also wants to know why 'The Dragon,' of all the suitors, is being singled-out for elimination, and suspects it has something to do with a connection of some sort to the Owner. She is determined to discover the truth.

Going along with the Owner's wishes for the moment, Madam Sinistra engages 'Aster' to aid her in knocking 'The Dragon' out of the bidding, knowing the woman's situation as having lost the man's favor and giving her the opportunity for a little revenge. It is clear from her nasty language that 'Aster' hates Madam Sinistra, but she's petty enough to want revenge against 'The Princess' and 'The Dragon' for ruining her chances of getting her contract bought out. She demands 2,000 galleons for coming up with an adequate plan, and a negotiation for extra, should Madam Sinistra expect her to becoming directly involved. Madam Sinistra agrees to the bargain. Secretly, she has plans to dump 'Aster' after the auction ends, believing the woman to be a common whore not worthy of _La Cerise_.

Hermione meets with 'Wolf' and 'Vivi' for their third round interviews this night, and both are invited on to the fourth round.

**June 16, 1815**

'Aster' sends Draco the first letter pleading with him to come see her, ignoring entirely his note terminating their agreement. He does not reply.

Hermione meets with 'Bootsey,' 'The Etruscan,' and 'Four' for the third round, and ends up cutting 'Four.' The other two suitors get an invite to participate in the fourth round.

**June 17, 1815**

Ginevra visits Hermione's suite with an offer of friendship, and presents her with an Italian-styled hand-held fan. The two speak for a bit over tea, getting to know each other better.

Hermione meets with 'York,' 'The Accountant,' 'The Prince,' and 'Loc' for the third round, and ends up cutting 'Loc.' The other three suitors get an invite to participate in the fourth round.

**June 18, 1815**

Hermione speaks to Madam Sinistra about how much allowance towards befriending other women within the house was stipulated by her contract. Madam Sinistra tells Hermione that there is no legal requirement that prevents her from making friends with the working women in the House, nor of how much information she can or cannot tell them about her private self. She cautions Hermione, however, to be discreet and prudent in her offers of friendship.

Draco receives a second note from 'Aster,' asking him to come visit her at _La Cerise_. He ignores this note, too.

Hermione meets with 'Chef,' 'Argonaut,' 'Jer,' and 'Brun' for the third round, and ends up cutting 'Brun' and 'Chef.' The other two suitors get an invite to participate in the fourth round.

**June 19, 1815**

Hermione writes letters to Harry, her parents, and her old Housemate and Big Sister, Fleur Delacoeur (who currently lives in London and works at Gringotts, having left France because of the revolution still on-going). Dobby assures the letters are brought to owls for immediate delivery.

Hermione goes to visit Ginevra in her suite this time, bringing along Pyg. The two take lunch together in 'Le Renard Rouge's' room. The women discuss the Auction, and Hermione makes it known to Ginevra that she's becoming attached to 'The Dragon' and would like him to win her virginity. Ginevra offers to ask her lover, 'The Italian' (whom she knows is 'The Dragon's' best friend) what he thinks of 'The Dragon's' honest feelings regarding 'The Princess.' They discuss 'Aster's' agreement with 'The Dragon,' and together make a plan to try to woo 'The Dragon's' sole affections this next round, so that he'll consider dropping 'Aster' permanently (Ginevra does not like 'Aster' one bit, believing the woman to be a viper).

In her bed later that night, Hermione asks Pyg his opinion on 'The Dragon,' and the little Puffskein morphs sapphire blue, then brilliant white, then scarlet red (which is floriography means 'a mysterious, true, forever love').

Draco meets up with Blaise, Vincent and Gregory at _The Rook's Club_ for their regular Monday night drink and cigars, and he is questioned by his friends about his long-term intentions towards 'The Princess,' should he win the Auction. For the first time, Draco says aloud his intent to marry the virgin courtesan. Only Blaise seemed to understand and give his approval.

**June 20, 1815**

Draco receives a third note from 'Aster,' begging him to come see her again. He throws this note in the fire with the previous two notes.

**June 21, 1815**

Draco receives an owl'd note from _J.S. Fry & Sons_ that confirms his order of two dozen of the man's finest, newest culinary creation: chocolate bon-bons (a novel idea using the rich, addictive, hot cocoa beverage, that solidified the liquid into round, hollowed-out bonbons – injected with flavored marzipan - that could be eaten for pleasure with the fingers), to be delivered to Malfoy Manor the up-coming Saturday afternoon in preparation for that night's interview with 'The Princess' (it is to be her gift this round). The chocolates are promised to be assembled and packaged inside a one-of-a-kind, hand-carved (with mother-of-pearl inlay) rosewood specialty heart-shaped box.

Hermione meets with 'The Etruscan' and 'The Prince' for a two and a half-hour time-slotted final interview in the evening. Neither man is invited to bid in the coming auction.

**June 22, 1815**

'Aster' pens a fourth note to Draco asking him to seriously reconsider ending their relationship. He crumples it up and tosses it away.

Hermione meets with 'The Accountant' and 'Scots' for a two and a half-hour time-slotted final interview in the evening. 'Scots' is invited to bid in the coming auction, but 'The Accountant' is not invited to bid.

'Aster' invites 'York' to visit her for some one-on-one time that night. Her plan is to convince the man to give her access to his potions stock so she can use it in her revenge scheme against 'The Dragon' and 'The Princess.' 'Aster' clearly knows 'The Dragon's' true identity as Draco Malfoy.

**June 23, 1815**

Madam Sinistra reads the journals of former Madams of _La Cerise_ to uncover clues as to why the Owner of the House wants 'The Dragon' to be dropped from the auction. She reads the entries regarding the last auctioned virgin (a woman who resided at the house thirty years previously, and who was a pureblood of the family 'Black,' but who also hailed from Muggle noble blood), including the fact that the same Owner of _La Cerise_ likewise attempted to eject from the bidding one of the woman's suitors – a man known as 'The Patrician,' who was the Owner's son. The last entry she read had to do with a previous Madam clearing out the basement and noting ancient runes on the walls that appeared to be black magic in nature. Madam Sinistra decides to solve that particular mystery and request the help of the one witch that she knows can translate Ancient Runes – Hermione.

Hermione and Ginevra meet for lunch at noon and remove their masks to finally look upon each other. This daring move showing incredible trust cements the bond of their life-long friendship ever after. They discuss Ginny's gossip regarding her lover's thoughts on 'The Dragon's' feelings for Hermione (specifically, that the man intends upon pursuing her hand in marriage after the auction has ended). This conversation convinces Hermione to finally reveal her true feelings to 'The Dragon' during their next interview.

Hermione meets with 'Argonaut,' 'Bootsey,' and 'Vivi' for a two and a half-hour time-slotted final interview in the evening. All are invited to bid in the coming auction.

Draco receives his fifth note from 'Aster,' begging him to re-establish their relationship. He puts it aside, and makes up his mind to see the woman face-to-face sometime the next week before the auction to make it clear that their relationship is over.

Draco meets with Severus at _The Rook's Club_ to discuss his intentions of suing for the hand of 'The Princess' in marriage after the auction has completed. He also conveys his concerns that his grandfather, Abraxas, might be attempting to re-established his coven of dark wizards and witches – remnants of Voldemort's rebel army – to try again to tumble the Ministry of Magic. Severus gives his blessing for the union of Draco and his witch, and agrees to spy upon Abraxas to find out more. Draco absently notices during this interview that Severus' appearance is greatly improved, and wonders if a woman's touch is somehow involved in that transformation.

**June 24, 1815**

Hermione meets 'York,' 'Wolf,' and 'The Dragon' for a two and a half-hour time-slotted final interview in the evening. All are invited to bid in the coming auction.

Draco presents 'The Princess' with a rosewood-mother of pearl box containing chocolate bon-bons. To everyone's surprise, Pyg is not only gifted to magically be able to Apparate about on his own, but he's also a sincere chocolate addict (he consumes enough to put himself into a stupor, as if he'd consumed a large quantity of liquor). Hermione and 'The Dragon' take a stroll around the rose garden after, alone. Secreting themselves inside the gazebo, they finally admit their feelings (Draco admits to loving 'The Princess' in French, in fact), and he makes it clear that he wants to marry her after the auction is over. They share a very passionate, hot kiss. After, 'The Princess' picks a blue, red and white rose and presents each to him in a special manner that lets him know she feels the same for him, and accepts his proposal.

'Aster' watches Draco leave 'The Princess'' suite after his interview, and is insanely jealous. She decides to put her plan to destroy the two lovers into action.

**June 25, 1815**

Hermione meets 'Knot,' 'Jer,' and 'Gold' for a two and a half-hour time-slotted final interview in the evening. All are invited to bid in the coming auction.

**WHAT'S COMING UP...**

**June 26-30, 1815**

Hermione inspects the Ancient Runes in the basement of _La Cerise_.

Madam Sinistra does some more delving into _La Cerise's _past.

Aster puts her plan to ruin 'The Dragon' and 'The Princess' into play.

Fleur comes to visit Hermione.

Blaise has a talk with Madam Sinistra.

Severus finds Abraxas.

Draco has a hard decision to make.

Pyg... well... I'll let you find out what the little puffball has up his metaphorical, magical sleeve.

**June 30, 1815**

The special dance for all those invited to bid in the final auction. Each suitor is permitted one dance with 'The Princess.' Any last minute wishes to withdraw from the bidding are done this night.

**July 1, 1815**

**Hermione Granger's virginity is auctioned off to the highest bidder. Who will that be? Or will the auction even happen? Keep reading the story if you want to find out…**


	7. Ch 6: Red Lines of Fate

_**CHAPTER SIX: RED LINES OF FATE **_

_**Diagon Alley - London, England**_

_**June 26, 1815 (Monday early morning-afternoon)**_

Aurora Sinistra was concerned. Actually, she was closer to approaching distressed, to be honest. She'd been reading the journals written by the former Madams of _La Cerise_, and found several interesting patterns that she wasn't sure any of the former House Abbesses had ever noted prior:

First, beginning with the inception of the house in 1215 A.D., it appeared that every thirty years – like clockwork - there was a courtesan auction in the House. Sometimes, it was a virginity sale, other times, simply a betrothal one.

Second, in every circumstance surrounding these auctions, the Madam in charge at the time notes a peculiar bond between the lady selling her physical self and one of her suitors. Specifically, there are like-notations in the journals regarding an odd, powerfully-persuasive, magical connection between the witch and the wizard who would, in the end, prevail over her heart.

Third, the names of the winning suitors in the case of _every single_ auction were all of the same family ancestry: Malfoy. Case in point, the last auction, held thirty years previously for the prize of 'La Comtesse' – a Miss Narcissa Black - was won by 'The Patrician' – Mr. Lucius Malfoy. And the transaction before that, held sixty years previous (prior to the adoption of fantasy aliases and masks) for the prize of Miss Madeline Peverell's hand in marriage was won by Mr. Abraxas Malfoy, father to Lucius. And so on back to the foundation of the House.

Fourth, inevitably, in every single instance as well, the winning Malfoy Lord took his prize courtesan as wife after the auction ended.

That pattern had been unbreakable for five-hundred and seventy years… until now.

Oh, these initial requirements had certainly been met this time around as well; there was, in fact, an auction to be held, _and_ Aurora's virgin charge, Miss Hermione Granger, definitely shared that same mystical, magical bond with her Malfoy suitor, _Monsieur_ Dragon, _and_ Aurora had no doubts that the young man, Draco, had every intention of paying whatever it took to win the hand of his lovely courtesan this coming Saturday afternoon, _and_ she knew for a fact (thanks to a rather clever and unobtrusive eavesdropping spell cast upon her charge the other night during the couple's nighttime stroll in the rose garden) that the two had exchanged promises of love and a future beyond the auction. Yes, those requirements were all certainly in play this time around as well.

It was a fifth commonality, however, that was the culprit to shattering the precedent: in each and every auction until now, the woman being sold off was also a pure-blooded witch. Despite an impressive Muggle heritage that sanctioned her undeniably as being of the royal peerage (of higher rank than anyone Aurora had ever met in the whole of her existence, in fact, and she'd catered to her share of Ducs and Comtes in France), Miss Granger was incontrovertibly not of pure-blood wizarding stock. She was, crudely, a Mudblood.

Was this the reason, then, that the mysterious Owner of _La Cerise_ did not want _Monsieur_ Dragon to bid in this weekend's sale? Who was Aurora's Master anyway? Was he of the Malfoy line itself? Perhaps, instead, the man served as a third-party patron to finding brides for Malfoy male heirs, as had been the convention in her native France for many of the nobility (frequently, entire families were dedicated to the convention of matchmaking each other's children).

Whoever he was, it was clear that, for all intents and purposes, _La Cerise's_ place in history seemed to be little more than a way of assuring an unbroken lineage of pure-blooded marriages for the Malfoy family. Their pedigree was thusly assured.

That is what had Aurora currently upset – the fact that she was considering doing what that Madam of thirty-years previous had done for her own charge: arguing with her Master for her ward's best benefit (and of course, her own in the doing), contending that young Master Draco should not be removed from the bidding this coming Saturday, as the man would _definitely_ place the highest bid this House had ever accepted to win _Mademoiselle_ Granger's body for his own (and that meant Aurora's pockets would be filled with a pile of galleons as well). It would also fulfill the legacy of the House – assuring the current Malfoy heir found himself a bride of worth (if there was one thing Aurora was rather superstitious of, it was breaking long-held traditions – _grande malchance!_).

If she could grab a hold of her courage this one time, she was sure to make a fortune off of this auction. Then, she could finally retire and be with her gentle _amant_.

**X~~~~~X**

_**Diagon Alley - London, England**_

_**June 26, 1815 (Monday afternoon-evening)**_

The basement had been cleared on three sides of shelving and trunks with a simple wave of Hermione's wand. Swept clean of debris within a very short amount of time utilizing her magic, Hermione finally set to work translating the glyphs that were carved into the very stone foundation of _La Cerise_ around the one o'clock hour. Using her wand to also adjust the lighting accordingly, and bringing quill, ink and paper and setting them up on a small work table that she found prepared in advance for her use, she began this task with a sense of great trepidation.

Upon first inspection of the shape of the stylized markings – noting the sharp peaks of the crowded letters, Hermione deduced she was looking at very ancient spell craft that seemed to combine the Elder Futhark runic alphabet with the Younger Futhark. Her own advanced studies on Ancient Runes led her to believe, upon casual, cursory perusal, that she was looking at some sort of an entreaty for blessings.

Copying down the runes in precise penmanship, being particularly mindful to mark the exact locations of the runes on each piece of parchment, ate away at her entire day, and she didn't reappear above ground until well after the eight o'clock hour that night.

Straight away, Hermione wrote a note to her parents, politely, yet urgently requesting that they send over all of her Advanced Runes textbooks directly, as well as the three references books on the subject that were stacked neatly within her private bedroom's bookshelf. Summoning Dobby then, knowing she couldn't wait for an owl if she wanted to get her work done before her time at _La Cerise_ ended this weekend, she requested the little house elf Apparate immediately to her parents' home in Godalming in Surrey and wait while they collected the necessary texts, then return to her straight away with the parcel. She gave him the address and her note and sent him on his way.

Forty minutes later, Dobby reappeared in Hermione's room with a pile of books that stood taller than he. She exchanged them for a nice trinket which Dobby could gift to Winky (Irish's thoughtful trinket to her during the second round – his home country's national flag from the last Quidditch World Cup, which she trans-tailored on the spot into a tiny apron that would fit Winky's proportions), and thanked her diminutive friend for his most excellent help. With a snap of his fingers, Dobby retreated once more to the Servant's quarters below, leaving her alone with her thoughts.

Rubbing at her exhausted eyes, Hermione prepared a quick bath to wash away the day's sweat and the dust that clung to her every pore. After drying herself with a spell and dressing in a newly laundered linen nightdress, she made her way to bed. Just as she was lying her head back against her pillow, Pyg snuggling up to her freshly washed and dried hair, did it occur to her that the interviews were over, and she finally had her definitive list of eligible bidders for this Saturday's auction. It was the largest in _La Cerise's_ history, beating out the previous virgin's number by a single gentleman, in fact.

In attendance would be her Dragon, Vivi, Bootsey, Argonaut, Wolf, Gold, Knot, Jer, and Scots. Whether the previously cut suitors would be in the audience out of curiosity remained a possibility, as the House rules allowed such frivolity (although Hermione would have preferred those men stay away, for she had declined their interest with purpose and would feel slightly uncomfortable to appear before most of them again in this matter).

Six days.

In less than a week, she would move into the realm of adult gratifications. Closing her eyes, she threw out a fervent prayer that nothing would prevent the love of her heart – _Monsieur_ Dragon – from being the first man to come into her willing body.

"Sweet dreams, Pyg," she whispered to her beloved familiar, gently running her fingertips through his soft fur. He lightly vibrated and trilled in response, and Hermione knew without words that he was offering her the same wishes back.

**X~~~~~X**

_**Malfoy Manor - Wiltshire, England**_

_**June 26, 1815 (Monday night)**_

Draco reined in his temper, refusing to take his frustrations out of the owl that had been merely the messenger for Aster's sixth note pleading him to come to see her. It wasn't the bird's fault that its mistress was a persistent, cancerous polyp on his backside.

Something had to be done about the woman's refusal to take rejection, however. He worried how her increasingly upsetting and erratic behavior might somehow make itself known to his Princess - something he absolutely could not allow, especially during this final week of the auction.

Sitting at his mahogany desk in the study, he composed a curt return letter informing Aster that he would be attending her this Wednesday afternoon - with no accommodating explanation granted - and then sent it off with the Long-Eared Owl, along with a treat for its trouble.

Turning his attention to more important things, he left the study and made his way up a flight and down the East Wing of the house, heading for the Malfoy family's Jewel Room – a secreted space behind the walk-in closet of the bedroom that used to belong to his father. Passing through the walnut-paneled entrance with a flick of his wand, and requiring the light globes in the adjoining room to spark into being, he considered the three rows of precious jewelry pieces behind glass that stood directly before him. Which would his lovely want most for her engagement ring?

His eyes passed over the necklaces, bracelets, earrings, crowns and laurels, and jacket pins to consider only the rings. This trove represented the majority of the Malfoy gem wealth – centuries of rings gifted to brides of the Malfoy heirs. Draco had considered commissioning a unique piece for his beloved witch, but realized from their time together that she seemed more sentimental in nature, and an heirloom piece would certainly be in best alignment with her style.

The perfect token of his esteem and love sparkled brilliantly up at him from amidst all of the other options and immediately, he knew it to be the correct choice: the ring his father had gifted his mother for their own engagement.

Sliding back the glass on the casement holding his mother's band, he took the impressive piece from the display case and held it up, watching the extremely rare and valuable six-carat apple-green, square-cut diamond centerpiece reflect the candlelight exquisitely. Surrounded by another carat and a half of round-cut diamonds of the highest quality, and another full carat of similarly cut diamonds down the sides of the white gold hoop, the entire band sparkled with warmth and life. The ring had been placed here for safekeeping by his mother soon after he'd been born (the baby he had been had once had a terrible penchant for suckling upon the shiny object as if it were a consumable - that according to his godfather). It was truly the most beautiful of gifts to give to the most beautiful of women; a ring befitting an Empress or Queen.

Yes, this was the piece he would give his Princess this Saturday, when he got on one knee, and requested the honor of her hand in marriage.

Replacing the ring in its assigned slot and closing up the glass case, he pronounced a _Nox_ upon the room, and shut the panel behind him on his way out.

Making his way towards his private chambers, he considered all he had to do this week.

Tomorrow he would go to Gringotts for the final discussion with the bank manager regarding the ease of transfer of monies. He wanted no delays between when he was named the winning bidder, and when he could take his lovely to the bedchamber.

After that, he would meet with his tailor for their pre-arranged appointment. He had commissioned two new outfits at the same time as his previous rush order of the blue velvet frock, and was eager to see them for final fittings. The first he would wear to Friday night's Ball at _La Cerise_. Sincerely, he rather thought the champagne and gold-colored, single-breasted waistcoat made of silk and embellished with embroidered, golden, Tudor-styled paisley designs (a fabric imported from Germany) would look quite dashing against the backdrop of his hair. He would accessorize with a black, woolen tailcoat, dark grey woolen pantaloons, white linen shirt, matching champagne-colored, silken cravat, and of course, he would have his favorite black dress shoes shined for the occasion. Saturday's outfit would outshine all he had worn previous: a forest green, velvet Great Coat embellished with matching velvet buttons, over a white-on-white embroidered, silken waistcoat, white shirt, dark bronze pantaloons, and a white, silk cravat and matching cufflinks. The shoes would remain the same (they _were_ his most favorite and comfortable pair, after all, and what better to serve a man than comfort during a rather stressful week?). It was costing him a pretty penny to put his clothing together, but he wanted to look his best for his lady always.

Tomorrow, he would also quill a note to his godfather, requesting an update on his fact-finding mission. He was concerned for Severus, and the way they had left things had disturbed his mental disposition greatly. If Snape's prying upset Abraxas… He knew his grandfather to be a vicious man. Yes, he was rather worried for his godfather's safety.

When he arrived back into his private apartments, he instructed his house elf to draw him a bath. Stripping off his clothing, Draco decided not to think anymore on such troubling scenarios, finally sinking under the hot, almond-scented water with a calming sigh. Instead, he lost himself in happier reflections.

Six more days and _she_ would be his.

Closing his eyes and palming his erection, which had sprouted at the simplest of thoughts of the woman he craved, Draco allowed himself the luxury of enjoying his habitual evening fantasy, shoving all other concerns away…

_A riot of dark auburn and brown curls laid out across white, silken sheets… wet, pink lips begging for more of his taste… rosy nipples thrust towards him in yearning… Venus' soft, moist pearl to wrap his tongue around and suckle gently… his Princess' moans and pleading voice a sweet melody in his ears… and then the exquisite feel of breaching her cerise the first time in a slow, tender joining of their bodies…_

"I love you," he whispered across the distance separating them, and found his release instantly, such devout worship permitting him a glimpse into Heaven once more.

Six more days…

**X~~~~~X**

_**Diagon Alley - London, England**_

_**June 26, 1815 (Monday late night)**_

Spraying a last bit of perfume on her throat and checking her hair in the mirror once more, Astoria straightened out her two-piece, white, chiffon peignoir (the specially ordered Italian set that fell only to her knees), before bouncing over to the door to answer the calling of her 'guest.' The diaphanous material of the nightdress flowed about her thighs as she moved, causing skin prickles, and showed just the barest peek of her straining nipples (which she pinched for good measure as she reached for the brass knob). She wore no other lingerie purposefully.

Her abdomen clenched in anticipation as the wooden portal swung inwardly and her caller stood at her doorstep, dressed in the impeccably, handsome ensemble of a gentleman scoundrel.

"May I come in?" Knot inquired, his sensual lips turned up in polite inquiry.

Astoria stepped to the side, indicating the wizard with the burnished harlequin mask could enter her chamber. Shutting and locking the door behind him, she waved the appropriate silencing charm around the room before turning to her guest. "I wondered if I would ever sample you, Mr. Knot," she played up the sultriness in her voice and demeanor. "You have ever been an enticement for me, I admit. And your sympathetic letters these last four weeks - ever since that foul auction was announced - have provided solace during my… darker days. I thank you most sincerely for inquiring so considerately after my well-bring, by the way."

"You're quite welcome," he politely replied, his tone indicative of a distinct lack of curiosity on the matter, his gaze rudely straying about the room, ignoring hers entirely. He was distracted by the décor, apparently.

Irritated with his deficient attention, Astoria leaned provocatively against the closed door, thrusting her breasts outwards with a clever arch of her back, passively hoping to catch the man's basest interest. "I cannot deny that your flatteries appealed to my womanly nature, sir."

"I'm sure," he absently noted, moving to stand before the large, two-way mirror against the nearest wall, seeming to memorize every aspect of the space from its reflection.

Severely annoyed with this man's dispassionate response, and never one to endure being ignored, Astoria decided to take more obvious steps. Purposefully swaying her hips, she stalked across the room to Knot's side, and boldly ran her hands up the expensive, woolen tailcoat the wizard wore, noting how its dark cerulean color matched her visitor's gaze. "I've often noted you observing me as I walked about the lobby with _Monsieur _Dragon these last nine months, you know."

He touched the mirror with elegantly manicured hands. "I have noted that such fanciful strolls have ceased since the introduction of The Princess to the House," he rather bluntly, almost cruelly stated, finally taking an interest in her conversational skills.

Aster tried not to let her ire get the better of her sense; she needed the money Knot would provide from this night's entertainment to pay for her room and board this month. Keeping her face neutral, she called upon her Slytherin training to affect an air of nonchalance. "My swain's distraction gives me time to enjoy the company of other men… such as you, Mr. Knot."

He turned his full attention to her finally. "Tell me: do you often have voyeurs behind the mirror, Miss Aster?"

Astoria peered into the two-way looking glass. "More so recently, yes," she admitted with a coy smile.

"Are there any tonight?"

Flipping a thick strand of her long, white hair off her shoulder, Astoria shook her head. "Not that I am aware." If he could so rudely ask a blunt question, she could so impolitely reply.

Knot gave her an enigmatic smile. "You are certain, my dear?"

Astoria tapped twice on the wall, per the prearranged signal with the House Mother. When no reply was forthcoming, she nodded. "Certain."

"Good," her tall, dark companion replied, reaching out and grabbing her upper arms, pulling her tight into his embrace. With a quick move, he flipped her white, feathered mask off her face, revealing her countenance, and then did the same with his own.

By the will of Slytherin, Knot was a _handsome_ man! Finely wrought cheekbones, square jaw, straight nose, and eyes that burned with fire – all aligned in perfect proportion. With that dark, rakishly, wind-swept hairstyle, his impressive height, and a shape that appeared fit and trim, Astoria felt her body react to him immediately, tightening up, moistening.

"Lovely," Knot murmured, touching her cheek softly, admiring her with equal consideration. His fingers splayed over her face, then down her throat to the top of her nightdress. To her surprise, with a vicious series of yanks, he ripped her clothes from her, baring her breasts and cleanly shaven Mons to his hot stare. Aster's whole body quivered with anticipation, for here was a man who knew what he wanted and took it without apology - just as she secretly preferred.

Belying his previous violence, his second series of touches was equally as gentle as the first against her heated skin. "Perfection." He traced every morsel of her that he could reach without bending a knee. "You are exquisite, little flower. Truly, you are Lillith incarnate."

Astoria's pride swelled. She had been called beautiful by many of her clients over the last year, but never had there been a man who looked at her as if she were a Goddess of Ancient Rome itself – until now.

Spinning her about to face the full-length mirror, Knot began fondling her expertly, bringing her to climax twice with great skill before bending her forward, bracing her hands against the silver-backed glass and removing his own clothes. Astoria watched in the reflection as he bared a perfectly toned, sleekly muscled frame and a long Hampton that made her mouth water at the sight.

Gripping her hips with a rough hold, he parted her legs with an insistent thigh. "_I'm_ going to fuck you now, you Athanasian Wench," he declared in a hard tone, and with a single thrust, inserted the full length and girth of him inside her well-prepared body. He took her fast, hard, with bruising force, those blazing eyes of his never leaving hers in the mirror. He commanded her with a tightly controlled tone to moan for him, to cry out as he slammed himself into her tight channel, to beg him for even more using an array of naughty phrases.

Astoria obeyed all of his wishes, surrendering to the magic of this man's unassailable authority, and when he allowed her to find her release, it was a powerful and heady experience that left her breathless and greedy for more. He ejaculated into her soon after in a series of brutal, fierce jettisons, then withdrew almost immediately after the coupling had completed, spinning her back around and forcing her to her knees before him. "You know what to do, pretty, little flower," he stated rather unemotionally, pressing his spent, wet member towards her mouth, his breathing rough, but quickly coming back under his control, his eyes dark and compelling. Responding to her new client with eagerness – sin drawing like sin - Astoria did as Knot required of her and took his _bitte_ back into her mouth to suckle into a second readiness.

When their coupling was finally done an hour later, her new client redressed quickly, leaving Astoria lying boneless on her settee. Amusedly, she realized they'd never made it to the bed.

"Do you seek righteous vengeance against my little, half-brother for tossing you over then?" he asked, lacing up the front of his shirt and slipping his waistcoat about his shoulders.

Astoria blinked away the fuzzy afterglow of their session and focused on her new lover. "I am unsure as to whom you speak of, Mr. Knot." She affected a lady's manner of speech, modestly closing her legs and covering up her nudity with a small shawl. "To which man are you referring?"

With a shark-like grin, Knot turned the full weight of his sinister gaze upon her, and it was then that Astoria realized she had found her soul mate. "_Monsieur_ Dragon," he sneered, his tone vehement.

Years of Slytherin training had prepared her well for reading between the lines, and for making leaps of logic and finding unobvious connections. The months of Knot's calculating gaze roaming over her each time she was summoned by Draco Malfoy, the man's rumored interest in The Princess' auction around the House to coincide with The Dragon's interests… the conclusion was incontrovertible. "You wish to see him humiliated as much as I," she postulated perceptively.

Knot looked at her with significant pause, gauging what he knew of her. "I wish to see him destroyed," he admitted maliciously.

Astoria laughed with fiendish delight, having finally found the perfect man to share her triumph with. "What are you proposing, exactly?" she inquired gaily. "Supposing one was interested in bringing about the ruin of one's former lover, that is to say."

Knot glanced down at her, noted the wrap covering her up as Astoria played the proper lady, and started unlacing his shirt again, his answering smirk as evil as Samael's itself. "Get on your hands and knees for me and I'll tell you," he aberrantly commanded.

With nary a second between his demand and her action, Astoria flipped the blanket from her body and assumed the correct position. She submitted her body eagerly to the endless pleasures Knot gifted upon her for the remainder of the night, all the while listening while her new co-conspirator explained his plan - which, ironically enough, was very closely related to her own spitefully-inspired machination.

**X~~~~~X**

_**Diagon Alley - London, England**_

_**June 27, 1815 (Tuesday morning)**_

Hermione spent a lovely breakfast with Ginny, and the two daydreamed and gossiped and lollygagged half the morning away, while reclining on side-by-side settees, their masks blissfully tossed to the side for the moment.

"Will you see your Italian this week?" she absently asked, one hand caressing Pyg's soft fur. The little familiar with snuggled against her neck, napping, cooing on occasion in his sleep.

Her friend's sighed in true happiness. "Yes, tonight. He sent a note last night informing me to prepare myself for an entire evening of love making." Ginny stretched her hands over her head and arched her back as she yawned. "I can't wait. I've missed him these last few days."

Hermione grinned playfully. "You are in love," she sing-songed teasingly.

"Wholly, I admit," Ginevra harmonized back, her smile dazzling, her eyes twinkling with her heart's joy.

Carefully capturing Pyg to her with both hands, Hermione sat up and made to her feet with a sigh. "Can you not discuss his procurement of your contract?" She made her way to the bed to deposit Pyg on his favorite pillow, as if she were putting down a young child.

"In truth, I'm concerned of pushing the boundaries of my _amoureux's_ comfort," her friend admitted hesitantly. "I don't wish to be presumptuous, either. He has yet to tell me his feelings directly."

Hermione considered that as she settled Pyg in for his nap. Wouldn't a man who loved you say so directly? Her Dragon had admitted such, and he had known her for far less a time than The Italian had known Ginny. "We should consider a way for you to acquire your man's vow of love tonight when he visits," she stated firmly. "For it is clear to me that he does harbor such thoughts and emotion for you, or I am a fool." Making her way over to the tray service, she lifted the small, ceramic pot. "Would you like more tea while we scheme?" she offered her friend with an impish smile.

Ginny sat up and grinned. "Please. I believe I'll need something to whet this parched mouth of mine."

They sipped politely upon the lip of their china, each holding merely the cup without saucer, enjoying the spicy morning brew and the filtering sun shining upon them from the open French doors to the balcony as they hatched a plot to achieve the desired announcement of affection from Ginevra's darling cavalier. When they'd agreed upon a course of action for _Le Renard Rouge_ to boldly adventure, their spirits were high, and their giggling nonstop.

"You haven't yet told me of your interview with your Dragon last weekend," Ginny coyly noted, keeping her eyes on the contents of her refreshed cup.

Hermione blushed demurely. "I was not sure if it would be construed as impolite braggadocio to mention the success of last Saturday's meeting." She sipped her tea to whet her palette, and then with slightly trembling hands – shaking from excitement – she set the china aside on the small end table and stood up, much too excited to be sitting at the thought of relaying her triumph of the last interview with her Dragon. "It began wonderfully, as usual," she admitted, nervously twisting her fingers as she began pacing. "His gift was… Oh! I forgot – I saved you some!"

Her mind switching in mid-sentence, she hurried over to her dresser and opened it to pull out the heart-shaped box of chocolates. Hurrying back to Ginny's side, she placed it on her lap. "It is hand-carved, as you can see." Stroking the cover once more, loving how the light glimmered within the mother-of-pearl and gold gilt inlay, she smiled impishly. "But, it is not the outside that contains the greatest treasure, but the inside." Playing up the theatrics, Hermione slowly wiggled the top off the box. The mouth-watering aroma of luscious chocolate wafted through the air, and Ginny inhaled deeply and sighed, her face transformed by an inquisitive, child-like smile.

Immediately, Pyg woke up and began trilling loudly. Between one blink and the next, he had magically popped into Hermione's lap, scooting in close to the box. His fur was a scarlet red, and he vibrated incessantly, chirping away happily. "_This_ is why I must hide them," Hermione exasperatedly smiled and shook her head, reaching into the box and pulling a dark-chocolate, orange-crème filled bon-bon from the dwindled supply. Holding the candy between two fingers, she extended it slowly towards her little familiar. "You may have _one_," she offered generously. "But no more. You _know_ what these do to you."

With a gentle, probing tongue, Pyg reached out and wrapped his long, pink appendage around the treat. Then, with a quick, greedy yank, it disappeared, lost amongst the fluff. Instantly, the Puffskein turned orange and began trilling with joy.

"Merlin's great mystery, where did it go?" Ginny laughed heartily. "The thing was half his size!"

Hermione nodded and sighed. "I have absolutely no idea. I have never seen a mouth on him – just that tongue. It is downright unsettling." She petted Pyg and waggled a finger at him. "Now, you have had your fill, mister, and you will most likely be passed out in a few minutes anyway. Go settle down and sleep it off."

Pyg gave the back of her hand a final lick in thanks, and then popped back across the room, settling down upon his pillow once more. He began snoring within seconds, the effects of the chocolate taking hold in his tiny system almost immediately.

"If only all men were as easy to please," Ginevra joked.

Hermione chuckled, then reached in and grabbed a strawberry crème for her friend, holding it out to her. "Try one yourself. They are the height of decadence."

Upon her first taste, Ginny's moan of ecstasy was followed by her eyes rolling back into her head. When she'd finished swallowing, she excitedly peeped. "Oh, these are marvelous! What are they?"

"Chocolate bon-bons," Hermione explained, launching into a repeated elucidation on the whys and hows of the gift her Dragon had blessed upon her, following it up with a detailed recounting of the events of that fortuitous night. Ginny listened, enraptured, her eyes wide. When she'd completed her tale - including imparting the moment of the secret kiss and the vows of love between herself and her silver-eyed suitor - Hermione sat back to determine her friend's response.

In an act of casual wickedness, Ginny licked her fingers clean, considering her answer. "Marry the wizard," was the best wisdom the redheaded vixen could apparently impart, as she suckled the last of the melted chocolate off her pinky finger. "Agree without pause to his marriage proposal when he presents it formally. He's your perfect match." Her eyes glittered with playfulness then. "And don't forget the bon-bons this Saturday night when you two are finally alone." She waggled her eyebrows naughtily. "I bet they would taste fantastic with Champagne."

Hermione's cheeks heated once more, but this time, more with fantastical anticipation. "Champagne?" she hedged, biting her bottom lip, thrilled with the fantasies of imagination that had been sparked within her mind. She took a second piece out of the box – a vanilla crème, covered in milk chocolate and covered with tiny pieces of diced pecan – and turned it around and around, considering the confection. "_Le vin du diable_ with chocolate? Hmmm…" She bit down and sampled the treat, imagining the flavor chased by the effervescent tickle of sparkling wine. "I suppose we could experiment in advance with the idea," she mischievously offered with a smile. "Empirical evidence should prove out that theory that the combination would be appropriate or not."

With a laugh, Ginny took the half-bitten piece out of her friend's fingers and popped the remainder into her mouth before Hermione could react. "Although I find little use for the scientific method myself, being a practitioner of the magical arts," she joked, "perhaps, in this case, an objective analysis would be in order."

Calling for Dobby, the women ordered up two glasses of Champagne, and within moments of indulging themselves, they had both agreed: sparkling white wine and chocolate were a triumphant combination – especially before elevenses.

**X~~~~~X**

_**A Townhouse - London, England**_

_**June 27, 1815 (Tuesday afternoon)**_

Abraxas Malfoy sat across the room in an oversized, leather chair, drinking a crystal goblet full of Firewhiskey at this early hour, his gaze enraptured with the flames from the magically lit hearth before him. As the glass dropped down away from those pale lips, Severus noted the smirk wind slowly up the man's cheek – a look so like his grandson's that it made Severus' heart practically stop – and knew his concealed presence hadn't gone unnoticed.

Then again, there had always been very little that Abraxas didn't notice. The man had ever been eerily observant, bordering on clairvoyant.

"A man of your character should not skulk in shadows, Snape. It's entirely too cliché."

The voice of his former Potions pedagogue was the same as it had ever been: formal, aloof, chilling. The glass of liquor was raised again with a steady, elegant hand to that neatly-trimmed, whiskered mouth, and consumed in a single toss. From this angle, fathomless, blue eyes stared hard into the orange flames of the fireplace, not once glancing towards the corner where Severus currently was concealed with a Disillusionment Charm. Supreme confidence radiated from the former Death Eater; the Viper King was unshakable in his faith to still be capable of taking on an enemy.

Severus stepped out of the corner's shade and into visibility, dispelling the charm with a muttered incantation and a small wave of his fingers on his left hand. He kept his Ebony wand in his grip, prepared for any contingency. "It is good to see you again, Master."

Age had been kind to Abraxas Malfoy, whose patrician features were marred by very few lines, whose back had remained straight and firm, and whose hair had receded but a sliver. The wizard's coiffe had lost its darker hue (Lucius had been blessed with his mother's coloring), but the silver trim to the beard and moustache and the hair covering his head made Abraxas decidedly distinguished. He had always been a striking man, and time had done nothing to dull his powerful presence.

His laughter was equally as disconcerting as his apparent slow aging. "Come, we both know that is an empty title to profess. Simply, 'Abraxas' will do." He gestured with an absent wave of his finger towards the matching chair established perpendicular to his own to encourage discussion. "Sit."

The man was as irritatingly laconic as ever. Nevertheless, Severus' automatic reaction was to do as bade; he had served Abraxas throughout his school years as his Potions Professor's personal assistant, and during the war he'd been his recruit in the Death Eater army, and after the dust had settled from the Dark Lord's demise, he retaken his place at the man's side as his Potions Apprentice. Throughout it all, he had loved this wizard before him as a surrogate father. It had taken Draco's presence in their lives to render that relationship asunder…

Severus had always regretted the necessary separation, but not the reason for its requirement. He would never regret choosing the caretaking of his godson over this man before him now.

Seating himself into the comfortable furniture, Severus laid his wand across his lap, folding his hands over it nonchalantly, but making it clear where lay the levels of his trust. Abraxas snickered, aware with that keen perception of his exactly what his former student had done.

"To what do I owe the honor?" Abraxas asked, twirling the glass between his fingers, watching the firelight reflect off its dozens of facets.

Severus considered lying to him, but knew the futility; his godfather had always been able to sniff out lies and half-truths. "There has been rumor of a curious sort," he hedged, wording himself precisely. "Whispers reach my ears of a renewed interest by some in matters of historical reenactment. I wondered if it were mere gossip?"

Abraxas snorted, and stopped his twirling, his gaze finally turned towards Severus. Those twin sapphires pierced him to his very soul. "I am not involved in the resurgence of interest in renewing the Dark Lord's madness, Severus. I have been approached by Macnair and Yaxley, certainly." He smirked wryly. "The fools believe they have the strength to take on the Ministry. Well, they are welcome to die for such stupidity. I want no part of it." His stare shifted back to the hearthstone, his brow furrowing in troubled discontent. "I have more pressing concerns currently to attend, specifically my family's traditions."

Severus' eyes narrowed. "You speak of Draco."

"Pah!" his former Master spit rudely and stood so suddenly that Severus' grip on his wand tightened. The wizard moved off towards the liquor cabinet, however, pouring himself another full glass of the amber-colored slow death, his wand remaining out of sight. He dispensed a second glass and brought it back, holding it out to Severus to take without preamble or question. The glass passed between them, and then Abraxas returned to his chair, crossing his legs and frowning in irritation. "That reckless grandson of mine will be the end of my household's noble purity – and all because he is too much like his departed father, rest his soul!"

Severus smirked, and sipped at his drink. "You refer to their shared desire for independence, and need for personal sovereignty?"

They both knew it was a thorn for Abraxas that his only son had refused his father's command not to marry Narcissa 'La Comtesse' Black when she'd appeared at _La Cerise_ thirty years ago and stolen Lucius' heart. That decision had led to years of bitterness between the two relations; a broken relationship that had not found resolution before Lucius' death, just four short years ago.

Abraxas sniffed and shook his head in disgust. "It is bad enough my son tainted our heritage with _that woman's _Muggle background…"

"The connection was eight hundred years in the past," Snape reminded him genteel, although inside, he was shouting at Abraxas for being so pigheaded.

"Malfoys do not mingle their seed with lesser beings," the elder wizard waved him off.

Secretly a half-blood himself, Severus found that comment particularly insulting. He very intentionally phrased the next comment to sting on several accounts. "An infusion of new blood into a line prevents madness - as our former Dark Lord was well aware, and chose to ignore… to his folly."

"Lucius should have divorced the courtesan and married the Nott widow," Abraxas stated coldly, swirling his drink, taking a swallow. "I hear Theodore is a powerful wizard. And technically, he is the rightful heir, being the first born son of my son."

Severus sniffed, feeling the ire build in his chest. _This_ was the exact reason he'd cut all ties to this wizard years ago. "_Draco _is the lawful heir, being the only _legitimate_ Malfoy. Lucius did not love Lucretia, and you know it. It was an extra-marital affair that you 'encouraged' with vile tricks. That Theodore was the unfortunate consequence of that situation is irrelevant. He is a bastard child, and not the legal successor."

Abraxas was silent for a moment or two. "If only his wife hadn't gotten pregnant," he muttered around another pull of his drink.

"You certainly tried to prevent such an outcome," Severus countered with a sneer, his anger over the entire situation bubbling back to the surface. "The Anti-Pregnancy Curse you laid upon her for eight years was almost enough to ruin my best friend's happy marriage. It is why Lucius allowed you to convince him to take on Lucretia to begin with – citing the family's need for a successor. If Narcissa's doctor had not eventually discovered the spell…"

Abraxas sighed. "I reversed it, did I not? I apologized. I have spent _years _apologizing for that ruse." Unrepentant acrimony decorated the aristocratic features of his Master, darkening them. "Perhaps matters have played out for the best, however. Theodore's mother was particularly… troubling… after Lucius threw her over to remain with his wife. To atone for my interference in Lucius' marriage, I have been secretly paying Lucretia's blackmail from my private inheritance left to me by my mother's mother. The Malfoy fortune has never once been tainted by the scandal." Upon Severus' sharply indrawn breath, the elder wizard sniffed disdainfully. "Come now, you did not truly think that Nott's widow was a fool, did you? I had chosen Lucretia for Lucius intentionally _because_ of her ability to find ruthlessly inspired solutions to problems. She seemed the perfect Malfoy wife material, in fact." He sipped again at his drink, her eyes narrowing with reptilian coldness. "Little did I expect such vindictiveness would be turned on me one day? The bint nearly drained me dry – and that even after settling herself on that dim-witted German Margrave."

Severus remained silent, waiting for the rest, knowing his godfather was imparting all of this information freely for a purpose.

"She murdered both her husbands, you know. The Black Widow bitch," Abraxas continued grimly. "Her first husband, Nott… he was pushing daisies before the war ended. Killing off her second husband last year, however, had the unexpected side effect of making the chit finally vulnerable." He smirked cruelly and chuckled around his liquor. "She really shouldn't have dismissed her dearly-departed husband's personal security so soon after she put the man in the ground. Her… unfortunate accident… last summer could have most likely been avoided had she not been so cheap with the help."

Considering everything that the man had admitted, Severus came to a disquieting conclusion. "Lucretia killed Narcissa."

Abraxas' glass dropped slowly down onto his knee, and the man's gaze became distance, uncharacteristically vulnerable. He nodded once. "If there is one truism in the universe that I have discovered in my time on this earth, godson, it is that a woman's jealousy knows no bounds." He snuffled as if crying, but his eyes remained bone dry. "I kept the report my private investigator submitted at the conclusion of his findings, if you are interested in the macabre details." Those full lips pursed in a grimace of what looked to be true pain, then, and the elder man's free hand clenched the arm of his chair until the knuckles were white. "Unfortunately, it took two months for the truth to be determined – too late to stop my son from drinking himself into his casket. And to be candid, it matters little that it was not my hand that directly cast the spell that blew up the Floo Narcissa had stepped into that afternoon after running into Lucretia at _Borgin & Burkes_. The responsibility for my daughter-in-law's death can still be laid directly at my feet, and we both know it." His former Master looked up at him then with true regret. It was the first time Severus had ever seen such an emotion on the man's face in all the years he had known him. "It was _my_ insistence that Lucius seduce the young, widowed Nott and put aside his wife in favor of the other woman. If not for that introduction, the Margravine would have had no reason to bear ill-will towards Narcissa." With a slight tremble, Abraxas picked back up his drink and finished it off. Severus could now see that his former Master's eyes were beginning to glaze from too much imbibing. It was ironic really that the thing that had killed Severus' childhood friend so quickly was now slowly eating away at the man's father as well. "Covetousness, Hubris, Avarice, Lechery and Wrath _– _the witch embraced more than half of the Seven Cardinal Sins in one fell swoop," his godfather finished with a bitter smirk as he swallowed.

"I will assume you surveyed firsthand Lucretia's... unfortunate... passing," Severus asserted with some satisfaction. No answer to the rhetorical statement was given or necessary, as it would have been stating the obvious. They had both been Death Eaters, after all. "But what of Theodore?"

Abraxas shook his head. "The young man's paternity can no longer be accurately established, as my Lucius is in the grave. Draco's succession and inheritance are assured as a result. That has never, and does not now absolve my responsibility, however, to a male sharing the Malfoy blood. It is for that reason that I have done what I could to assure Theodore has been kept safe throughout his life, as well as paying the blackmail to his leech of a mother – a sizeable sum yearly, let me assure you – which has had the added benefit of keeping him in more than comfortable establishment." He ran a hand through his hair in a manner that was so like Draco that Severus' heart clenched for a moment at the poignancy of the comparison. "I have always fulfilled our family's obligation to young Mr. Nott, with none the wiser. I will continue to do so until he achieves his heart's desire of a good marriage and an heir of his own. To that purpose, I have seen to it that he shall win the Virginity Auction at _La Cerise_ this Saturday."

Severus' heart stopped. He knew Abraxas was the clandestine owner of the Masked Gentleman's establishment; _La Cerise_ belonged to the Malfoy patriarch, and it had never been passed to Lucius before he'd died, and as a consequence, Abraxas still retained control of the House (and apparently, lived off of the proceeds, as the sum allotted to the man in Lucius' Last Will and Testament had not been so great). He assumed, however, that the man had no clue that Draco had fixed his intention on marrying the woman meant to be auctioned off this weekend out of said House. Or, would Abraxas intentionally keep Draco from winning out of misplaced guilt towards Theodore's bastard station?

"Seen to it in what manner?" he asked his former Master, trying for indifferent, compartmentalizing his anxiety in the way of a well-trained Slytherin.

Abraxas turned the crystal goblet around and around again in his hand, watching the reflection of the light with absent fascination. "I have required the _Madame_ to concoct a scheme to knock Draco out of the bidding, and will assure Theodore remains the last bidder standing by assuring a substantial amount is deposited into his Gringotts account before the auction, so he may have access to whatever funds he needs to win."

"You're meddling again," Severus pointed out viperously. "Were you aware that Draco is actually in love with the very same virgin you are so casually arranging to sell off to his half-brother?"

At that, Abraxas' head snapped up and true surprise flashed across his features. Apparently, he was not aware. Well, at least there was some saving grace for the elderly man's reputation there.

Severus bit back his ire nonetheless, coldly laying out the situation for the old man in plain terms so there would be no doubt as to the travesty he was about to commit. "Yes, Abraxas, your grandson is _desperately_ besotted with the lady. He came to me a few days ago requesting my blessing on their imminent marriage – which I have given. He plans to make her his bride."

Abraxas roared to his feet, fury replacing his earlier melancholy. "He cannot! The toffer is Muggle-born!"

Now it was Severus' turn to be astonished. "I was under the impression that your House only offered women of pure-blood status."

His former Potions instructor was pacing, metaphorically burning up the rug with each pass. "That bloody Madam I've hired believed the witch's pedigree was substantially impressive enough to overlook such a glaring fact."

"And what pedigree would that be?" Severus asked, truly curious now. What could have made his Aurora, a woman known to be a stickler for rules, disregard the established House policies so irresponsibly?

Moving back towards the liquor cabinet, Abraxas renewed his glass once again. "She is the great-granddaughter of the last Archduchess of Hapsburg," the eldest Malfoy sire murmured inattentively, his mind clearly mulling over the pressing problem at hand.

Severus blinked in astonishment and leaned forward in his chair. "Do you truly mean to tell me that this woman – this 'Princess' that Draco loves - is in direct descent for the throne of the Holy Roman Emperor, the supreme royal title in all of Europe… and you find issue with that because her parents are not magically-inclined?" He laughed then, and it was a vicious crack in the high-ceiling room. "Are you truly so asinine, Abraxas, or just that stupid not to see the political alliance you're denying your legitimate heir and grandson and offering up freely to his bastard half-brother instead? I dare say that 'His Imperial Majesty, Draco Malfoy' has a decidedly more delicious ring to it than 'The Honorable Draco Malfoy,' don't you?"

Sitting forward in his chair, Severus stared hard at the man he had once been willing to follow alongside into the bowels of Hell itself, but now felt little more than contemptuous pity towards. "You would deny the Malfoy family the opportunity ironclad rule over the Wizarding Ton – and the ability to establish social precedence for years to come - all in the name of obstinate prejudice?" He sat back and smirked, shaking his head at the ignorance. "Do you really believe that anyone will give a whuff about the chit's pure-blood status when being forced to bow and scrape at her feet because of the preeminence of her title?"

Abraxas resumed walking up and down the length of the Aubusson carpet, nursing his full glass. Severus knew the man was listening, so he decided to press his case for Draco's suite, using very Slytherin tactics to achieve his aim, knowing right where to hit his former Master the hardest to seal the deal. "Sir, your grandson is a _good_ man. He has worked hard his whole life to distinguish himself and to maintain the honor of the Malfoy name. It is why he turned to _La Cerise_ initially - to find a wife so as to carry on the traditions _you_ hold so dear. Despite your… disassociation… he feels the loss of his family as keenly as you. You are denying him his rights as the only, true Malfoy successor to take home a bride from _La Cerise_."

For the third time in his life, Severus was witness to Abraxas being caught flat-footed; the man's eyes widened a tad, and his entire demeanor froze on the spot.

He waited out his godfather's eventual displeasure, sipping casually at his own glass and watching the man's every action like a hawk, but the reaction he had expected never came. Instead, the elder wizard's brow furrowed in thought and he slid over to his chair again, and put his topped-off glass down on the side table next to him.

"I hadn't considered it in such a manner," Abraxas acknowledged in a strangled murmur. "Draco attending _La Cerise_ to carry on the family tradition, that is to say. I assumed he went there to merely whore around with his friends."

Shaking his head, Severus felt sorry for this once-great man before him, never having understood his son and his grandson both. "He has had the opportunity to take any number of women to the altar upon coming of age. He has always been a very popular lad. The Parkinson bint, the elder Greengrass daughter, Miss Lavender Brown, even Bulstrode's girl have all thrown themselves at him. He decided upon _your_ customs, Abraxas, instead. The ancient family ritual of finding a bride at _La Cerise_ was my godson's _purposeful_ choice. Now he has found the woman to complete his soul – a witch any man of social worth would leap at the opportunity to impress himself upon - and you have conveniently arranged for him to fail in his familial duty and to lose his heart at the same time." He coldly stabbed the one wound he now knew to be an open, festering pit of regret and guilt. "Your interference in such matters the first time cost you the love and respect, and eventual life, of your only son. It has created a rift between you and Draco for all of these years. Do not compound your transgressions by denying him this most important of dreams."

"What you suggest…" Abraxas sighed, running a hand through his groomed hair, mussing it thoroughly.

"I suggest only that you allow Draco the freedom to achieve the woman he has been destined to love, as he rightly deserves _and_ as your ancestral custom has dictated for centuries," Severus made the entreaty with fervor. He stood up and prepared to leave, knowing his old Master would need a day to consider his words – and to sober up. "In doing so, you will bring preeminence to the Malfoy name, as well as carry on the tradition of all Malfoy men – that is, the finding of their brides at _La Cerise_. And once Draco learns of your ownership of the House where he met his wife, he will most likely come back into your life. You will win on every account, my old friend." He made his way over to the door. "Think on it." He twisted the knob and yanked open the door, but turned back dramatically to make a final point. "But do not take too long. If your House Madam abides by your instructions, Draco only has a few days before he will be removed from the bidding. If that happens…" He paused a melodramatic moment. "I believe it would be safe to say that your son would turn over in his grave… and your grandson would never forgive you."

With that, he walked out of his former Master's life a second time.

**X~~~~~X**

_**Diagon Alley - London, England**_

_**June 27, 1815 (Tuesday late night)**_

After Ginevra took her leave in the early afternoon, Hermione found herself with idle time, and so turned to studying the runes she had copied yesterday. It had taken her ten dedicated hours, skipping tea and eating her supper at her desk, and ink had stained her fingertips by the time she had finished, but the translation was finally completed.

Pacing back and forth now, she had to finally admit that she was at an impasse, though, as to how to _interpret _the translation. Knowing what it said had been an accomplishment, yes, but the _intent_ or purpose behind the casting was a separate enigma all unto itself.

There were so many queer parts to this spell – for that is what this complex set of carvings was, beyond a doubt – that it was difficult to understand why the caster would have invoked such a powerful rite. It was indubitably an ancient High Ritual invocation requesting blessings in business and sexual and love unions – and that was what was so odd, for such a thing could have been accomplished at a place like _La Cerise_ even a thousand years ago with the simplest of charms, temporary love potions, maintaining excellent client satisfaction, and delivering a solid sales pitch to entice new business. Why the need for such a formalized spell, especially one that would have clearly required the caster's blood and a portion of his or her own power (a piece of their soul) to seal it into place (for all High Rituals required such a sacrifice)? It made no sense!

Leaning forward and looking over the five pieces of parchment again – one representing each wall and the floor - she considered the puzzle, turning the facts over in her mind.

First, in ancient spell craft, one began reciting a spell by facing the Arctic pole and moved in a clockwise direction when casting, so she rearranged the parchments to lay out in the proper order - starting with the paper representing the north wall, next came the east, then the south, then west, and finally the sheet that had copied the symbols on the ground foundation of the House. That put the spell in the order in which it would have been incanted initially.

Second, the runes were primarily written in "long-branch" Younger Futhark, with Elder Futhark runes surrounding each paragraph, as if to strengthen the charm's request. She had translated both using her books (thankfully, between the half dozen texts on hand, she had been able to translate from the runic alphabet to Old Norse and Icelandic – the most common conversion languages - to Common English, and many of the passages for the spell were customary invocations for old ritual pre-established by scholars in any case, and so were an easy look-up).

Third, each parchment read like some sort of Old Nordic poem. When considering them in the proper order, they almost seemed to tell a story, reading thusly…

On the Northern Wall:

**Sól er landa ljóme;lúti ek helgum dóme.**_(Sun is the light of the world; I bow to the divine decree.)_

**Galdra þú mér gal þá er góðir eru.**_(Sing for me magic spells which are beneficial.)_

The Elder Futhark rune _Ansuz_ - the glyph invoked to the Divine, asking for luck and inspiration– was carved here. Next to it, _Thurisaz_ requested strength to face a test of difficulty, and finally, _Wunjo_, a prayer for glory and wisdom.

On the Eastern Wall:

Before the verse even began, carved in large block, were the Elder Futhark runes _Othala_ and _Fehu_, a request for family fortunes and the building of the strength of a dynasty, both through successful business and smart, happy marriage alliances. _Algiz_ added at the end of this auspicious pairing invited long-term health and happiness into the equation. Strangely, the rune _Nauthiz_, the rune of necessity, finished off the string, inviting Destiny to accomplish the impossible.

**Þann gel eg þér fyrstan, þann kveða fjölnýtan.**_(I sing for you the first spell, which is most useful.)_

**Far þú nú æva, þar er forað þykir; og standi-t þér mein fyrir munum; **_(May you never go where calamity awaits you; may no harm obstruct your desires;)_

**að þú um öxl skjótir því er þér atalt þykir; sjálfur leið þú sjálfan þig. **_(That you throw off all which you deem to be evil; be your own master.)_

**ber þú, mögur, héðan, **_(May you carry hence, my son,)_

**því nóga heill skaltu um aldur hafa. **_(For abundant fortune you will have throughout life/forever.)_

**auðranns þess munu um aldur hafa. **_(This (your) rich mansion shall forever be known to men.)_

On the Southern Wall:

**Þann gel eg þér annan. **_(I sing to you the second spell.)_

The Elder Futhark glyph_ Ingwaz_ was carved here five times in a straight line. Such a powerful rune was commonly used to gather people and influence them, and was jokingly referred to as 'the rune of wayward fascination' amongst scholars, because its task in an enchantment was to influence a person sexually with the intention of performing fertility rites. It was also the 'rune of true love,' requesting everlasting partnership through marriage. Specifically, it was a masculine rune in nature, calling to the feminine to lure her for the purpose of homebuilding and conjugation. _Dagaz_, the 'good luck' symbol, was positioned at both the front and the back of the line of _Ingwaz_ runes, obviously in an effort to reinforce the wish for true love to be actualized.

**Honum var sú hin sólbjarta brúður að kvon of kveðin. **_(A sun-bright/sunny maiden was destined to be your wife.)_

**Nauðsyn kveðja nauðsyn. **_(Need calling up/summoning need.)_

**Augna gamans fýsir-a aftur fán, hvars hann getur svást að sjá; **_(Once the eye has beheld a delightful spectacle, it ever yearns to return.)_

**Moer gjarna sóma ykkarr sváss. **_(Maiden (then) willingly becomes your beloved.)_

**Kostr sóma hlutr. **_(Marriage (then) becomes your purpose.)_

**Barn sóma forlog. **_(Children (then) become your fate.)_

On the Western Wall:

**Þann gel eg þér inn þriðja. **_(I sing to you the third spell.)_

**Hefig minn vilja beðið - fylgja skal kveðju koss; **_(Your wish has come true - she greets you with a kiss;)_

**forkunnar sýn mun flestan glaða - hvar er hefur við annan ást. **_(Such a beautiful sight is a source of delight - one in love with another.)_

Here was carved the rune _Berkana_, inviting romance and healing and protection to the relationship. It was carved large – the size of her hand from tip to wrist. Next to it was engraved _Gebo_, for the seeking of perfect joy and a glorious union. Strangely, this same rune was also used to remove curses through sacrificial offerings. Which belied the question: what 'curse' could the wizard who established this spell be trying to overcome by requesting the help of a strong lust and love attractant? One can only assume it had something to do with an issue of propagation. Perhaps the casting wizard was having problems producing children?

**Þrár hafðar er eg hefi til þíns gamans, **_(No longer need you wait for the fulfillment of your desire for her,)_

**en þú til míns munar; **_(nor you for her love;)_

**nú er það satt að við slíta skulum ævi og aldur saman. **_(Now it is certain that you (two) shall be together for the rest of your lives.)_

On the floor, carved into the foundation of the House was the binding spell:

**Haidz runo runu, falh'k hedra ginnarunaz. **_(I, master of the runes, conceal here runes of power.)_

**Argiu hermalausz, ... weladauþe, saz þat brytz.**(Incessantly plagued by maleficence, doomed to insidious death is he who breaks this monument.)

**Blóð binda sási seiðr, þrir tími gjof. **_(Blood binds this spell, three times gifted.)_

The Elder Futhark rune strengthening purpose and will in an effort to resolve conflict, _Teiwaz,_ was carved around this paragraph, once at each corner of the rectangular shape of the writings.

Her concentration moved from one parchment to the next over and over, until the gently ticking clock on her mantle chimed out the two o'clock hour. Outside the window, through the curtains, the night was dark and silent. Pyg softly snored on his pillow across the room, oblivious to Hermione's growing inner turmoil.

Enlightenment finally came in a flash of brilliance that left her clutching at her heart in agony.

"Merlin, no," she murmured, falling back into the chair she'd previously occupied, a hand flying to cover her mouth.

It couldn't be true. It had to be her misunderstanding.

But the evidence was incontrovertibly before her, in black and white.

It was a _summoning_ spell – need calling to need - bound by the most powerful of magical rites, and sealed by the gift of blood.

Considering her circumstances again… She'd desperately required a way out of her impending marriage with Harry, and somehow (probably utilizing the well-established Ley Line of power that ran through the heart of Diagon Alley and spread its tendrils throughout the entire island), the spell on _La Cerise_ had felt her desperation and used it to fulfill its purpose.

She'd been purposefully coerced into coming here by the spell to fulfill its requirements.

Could that even be possible?

Well, of course it could. She'd read how the defeated Dark Lord, Voldemort, had used a spell to forcibly summon his loyal Death Eaters to him – one that he had managed to tattoo onto the very skin of his loyalists. Blood had been used to seal that spell as well (the blood of some poor, innocent victim, most likely). Ancient dark magic could accomplish things that modern magical education did not dare delve into.

And thinking back now, Hermione could not adequately remember how she had initially learned of _La Cerise's_ Virginity Auction. Had it been in an overheard conversation? An advert, perhaps? Or had someone spoken to her about it directly, and if so, who? The incident of her discovery of the House was strangely absent in her mind, which was wholly uncharacteristic and evidence enough of magical tampering.

Regardless, the fact of the matter was that now she was entrapped by the incantation's powerful lust and love spell, which could only be satisfied by her union with a man – probably an heir to the original caster's line, since the wizard or witch referred to 'my son' in the first paragraph, indicating that this spell was meant to be ancestrally inherited. So, whoever owned _La Cerise_ was most likely the culprit for gaining her affections.

Who could it be?

The House had been working its magic upon her from the moment she'd stepped foot in, but had probably been only actively creating an unnaturally-strong, binding magical connection between herself and a wizard since the time she had actively stepped into the presence of a man here, which would have been the night of her formal introduction for the auction…

The Dragon.

The magical sparks between them each time they touched, the overwhelming need to see him, the rush of feeling she had just thinking about the man finally made perfect sense.

"Circe, _no!_" she moaned, horrified.

Had the House drawn him here as well? Perhaps he had needed a wife, and the spell had somehow interpreted this requirement at the same time as it discovered Hermione's own need, and brought them together to alleviate both purposes? If so, then what she felt for him was falsified. Hers was an ersatz love!

No, she could not believe that! If she did, she would go mad.

Her feelings for her grey-eyed suitor were her own! They _had_ to be, for she felt them in her very soul. She loved him, truly and deeply, with every part of her being.

Tears dripped down her cheek and she tried to suppress a sob, but was unsuccessful.

Between one heartbeat and the next, her sweet, beloved familiar was pressed up against her cheek, and he was vibrating, trilling soothingly. "Oh, Pyg, what if it is true?" she whispered, truly terrified for the first time in her life, unsure if she could trust _anything_ any longer – not even her own feelings. "What if the reason I am here and the reason I love him is because of this awful spell? What if he only loves me back because the magic is forcing him to? What if he doesn't really love me at all?"

* * *

_**TO BE CONTINUED...**_

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**AUTHOR'S NOTES:**

"**Red Lines of Fate" – In ancient Asian culture, there is a superstition that red lines of fate extend between people invisibly, linking them inextricably. Typically, the lines have to do with love in some capacity of another (be it brotherly/sisterly love, parental love, romantic love, or friendship love). The lines connecting pinkies represents destined romantic love, for instance. In the case of this chapter, I am using the metaphor to weave for you the lines of intertwined fate amongst all of the players. **

**Grande malchance! = French for "very bad luck!"**

**Amant = French for "lover (male)"**

**Elder Futhark - Is the oldest form of the runic alphabet, used by Germanic tribes for Northwest Germanic and Migration period Germanic dialects of the 2nd to 8th centuries for inscriptions on artifacts such as jewelry, amulets, tools, weapons and rune stones. The knowledge of how to read the Elder Futhark was forgotten, and it was not until 1865 that the Norwegian scholar Sophus Bugge managed to decipher it. However, for the sake of this fanfic, I am stating that the wizarding world never forgot how to decipher these types of runes and they teach this language in the Ancient Runes classes in school (although, obviously, not the dark magic spells that accompany their frequent usage). **

**Younger Futhark - The Younger Futhark, also called Scandinavian runes, is a runic alphabet, a reduced form of the Elder Futhark, consisting of only 16 characters, in use from ca. 800 CE. The Younger Futhark became known in Europe as the "alphabet of the Norsemen," and was studied in the interest of trade and diplomatic contacts. **

**Venus' pearl – Victorian & Regency Era slang for a woman's clitoris.**

**Lillith – In Jewish folklore, from the 8th-10th Century **_**Alphabet of Ben Sira**__, _**Lilith was purported to be Adam's true first wife, who was created at the same time and from the same earth as Adam (to make man and woman equal partners). The idea that Adam had a wife prior to Eve may have developed from an interpretation of the **_**Holy Bible's Book of Genesis**_** and its dual creation accounts; while Genesis 2:22 describes God's creation of Eve from Adam's rib, an earlier passage, 1:27, already indicates that a woman had been made. The **_**Alphabet**_** text places Lilith's creation after God's words in Genesis 2:18, that, "it is not good for man to be alone"; in this text God forms Lilith out of the clay from which he made Adam but she and Adam bicker constantly. Lilith's main complaint in the story seems to be that since she and Adam were created in the same way, they are equal and she refuses to submit to him and let him lord over her. She quits the Garden of Eden in anger over the situation, and will not return even upon supplication of the angels that God sends after her. After a long time, she is eventually discovered wandering the world by and mated with the fallen archangel, Samael/Asmodeus. As a result of her loss, Eve was then gifted to Adam by God as a replacement companion (she was intentionally not made of the same earth as Adam, but was made of Adam's flesh and blood instead, to force Eve into a position of submission to her husband). Because Lillith did not participate in The Original Sin (eating the fruit from the Tree of Forbidden Knowledge), and is not of the lineage of Adam and Eve, she is said to have never had her immortality taken away by God. Lilith **_**is **_**described as having no milk in her breasts and as unable to bear any human children as a result of having left Adam's side (that was her punishment from God). In other offshoot tales, Lillith is demonized by the author, making her a killer of children, and a succubus of men and fallen angels alike. The one commonality amongst all of these stories, however, is that her beauty is written as being too tempting to resist. This legend was greatly developed during the Middle Ages, in the tradition of Aggadic midrashim, the Zohar and Jewish mysticism. **

**Athanasian Wench – Victorian and Regency Era slang; means a woman who is 'forward' and ready to oblige every man that asks her. A derogatory term for a prostitute.**

**Champagne – A sparkling white wine made of grapes from the Champagne region in France. During the Regency Era was known as 'bubbly' by the upper crust. In France, the first sparkling Champagne was created accidentally; its pressure led it to be called "the devil's wine" (**_**le vin du diable**_**) as bottles exploded or the cork jolted away.**

**Snape's wand is never discussed by JKR in the novels. However, there are websites dedicated to fans' best guesses as to its make-up. I, personally, like the research done to prove the Ebony wood-Dragon Heartstring core theory for his wand (it makes the best sense of all the choices), and so that is what I choose for him for this fanfic.**

**The "spell" Hermione has uncovered in this chapter is an actual series of runic spells found carved into a series of historic rune stones throughout Europe (I borrowed each section from a different stone to make the spell for this story complete). Those stones were dated between the 8th century C.E. and the 12th century C.E.**


	8. Ch 7: Where Cheating Is

**_CHAPTER SEVEN: WHERE CHEATING IS, THERE'S MISCHIEF THERE_**

**_Malfoy Manor - Wiltshire, England_**

**_June 28, 1815 (Wednesday early morning)_**

Severus' note appeared by owl as Draco was sitting down to breakfast. His house elf servant, Binky, brought in the sealed parchment envelope and letter along with the latest _Daily Prophet_, a plate containing a small selection of his favorite French pastries, and his morning spiced tea all upon a silver platter, which he set down at Draco's side before politely, quietly excusing himself to return to the kitchen.

Immediately, Draco opened the note and began reading.

_Godson,_

_Settle your fears. The matter we discussed last week has been addressed, and there is no cause whatsoever for alarm regarding the intentions of certain relations on that front. However, there is another issue that I feel it is past time was brought to your attention, and will come to you tonight for dinner to discuss – seven o'clock. I have urgent business elsewhere before then, and apologize for the delay, but will clarify all upon our meeting._

_~S._

Another urgent matter? That statement caused alarm. What else could involve his grandfather? Or, did this have to do with the man at all?

He'd have to wait and see, it seemed.

In the meantime, he had a full day scheduled, including a visit to Aster to set things straight between them once and for all. The woman had become a thorn in his side, and it was time yank her out and let her poison some other poor sop.

Finishing his meal quickly, he made his way to the foyer to collect his coat, hat and gloves. Gringotts first, to retrieve some money, then he was off to Madam Malkin's to check on the formal gown he'd ordered for his lady love and pay the remainder of the deposit. His Princess would need something fitting to wear on Sunday, when he properly presented her as his fiancée to his godfather over dinner, after all.

**X~~~~~X**

**_Diagon Alley - London, England_**

**_June 28, 1815 (Wednesday mid-morning)_**

Distraught by her discovery the night before, Hermione hurried to Ginevra's private chamber to discuss the situation with her friend.

"Give me a moment, and then tell me what has happened," Ginny bid, inviting her in and closing the door, assuring their privacy. She threw a thick cloak over the two-way mirror and cast a _Muffliato_ about her room.

As the ladies took a seat on the settee, they removed their masks. Hermione wiped away the tears that had coursed down her cheeks in her panicked flight from her room. She'd only had a few hours of sleep, her whirling mind refusing to allow her peace after the previous evening's revelations, and that combined with all of the crying she'd engaged in had left her eyes rimmed with red and swollen, circles of purplish darkness underscoring them. She dabbed at them daintily with the kerchief she'd thought to bring with her.

"Oh, goodness! Hermione…"

Her redheaded friend's arms came about her, and a fresh weeping spell overcame her. "I am so sorry! Pray, forgive me my weakness," she hiccupped. "But I-I have discovered something distressing, and I need your counsel.

"Anything," Ginny offered freely. "Tell me what has hurt you."

Hermione recounted her findings from her research into the runic spell that influenced _La Cerise_, and her supposition regarding how it may be affecting both her and her Dragon's feelings for each other. "W-what if it is the spell?" she weakly murmured, trembling. "What if he does not really love me in the depths of his heart, but is being compelled by ancient magic?"

Her friend considered that inquiry in silence for long minutes. "Does it really matter _how_ you have come to love one another, only that you _do_?" Leaning back, she took Hermione's hand. "Do you love your Pyg?" she suddenly asked the odd question.

Hermione nodded unreservedly. "Of course!"

Ginny smiled at her. "Do you feel compelled to love him or do you give such feeling to him of your own free will?"

She contemplated that question seriously. "I believe I love him freely."

_Le Renard Rouge_ shrugged. "How do you know? He _is_ a magical creature, after all. How do you know he hasn't cast a spell upon you so you would love him?"

Blinking in confusion, Hermione shook her head. "I do not know if that is the case. I just feel as if it were not. I feel as if I love him on my own, without coercion." She pressed over her left breast. "Here." Bringing her fingers to her head, she tapped her skull. "And here."

"Can't you trust your feelings for _Monsieur_ Dragon in the same fashion?" her friend inquired.

Hermione bit her bottom lip. "But it is not the same thing at all! Pyg was not called here by some spell for the purpose of bringing us together. He was a gift."

Ginny held up her finger. "Ah, then he was given to you by an outside influence. He had no control over the manner of his appearance in your life. In effect, he was _magically_ conveyed to your doorstep. Yet, does the fact of his coming to you in such a way diminish him in your eyes?"

Shaking her curly hair quickly, Hermione made her true denial. "Not a bit! I love him unconditionally."

"And of your own free will," her friend pointed out. "For you just explained to me that you believe that it _is _your free will dictating your love for Pyg by trusting in your own feelings in here," she touched Hermione's left breast, "and here," she touched her head. "You have no proof that he is charming you or not into accepting him, except what your heart tells you. Can't you do the same for your suitor?"

Could she trust herself? If she applied the same logic that she felt true feeling for Pyg to everyone else in the house – especially The Dragon – then rationally she would have to conclude that it was possible that, although they had been brought together under the auspices of the spell, they had fallen for each other honestly.

"Close your eyes," Ginny instructed, and Hermione obeyed. "Think back on each interview you shared with _Monsieur_ Dragon. Reach into your soul and look: do you love him for the man he's presented to you during each of these appointments, or do you truly feel you're being confounded and charmed by an enchantment?"

Memories assailed her of their first meeting:

_"Wear something green again for me next time," he suggested impishly, that platinum hair shining in the magically-lit lamps around the room as if it were spun of white-gold satin threads. "It's my favorite color." _

_Hermione smirked. The audacity of this man! He was actually a rousing jouster, fun and interesting. "Perhaps I will wear red instead, just to spite you," she playfully replied._

_"Hmmm… green and red?" he smiled beguilingly. "You would look like a Yule tree then."_

Their flirtatious-borderline-antagonistic verbal sparring had continued into their next appointment, too:

_"Red is more than agreeable on you, I admit," the man positively dared. To Hermione's astonishment, he blatantly allowed his eyes to roam her from head to toe. "But you were _divine_ in green, Princess. Perhaps you had nothing else in the color to wear, though… or did you forget my request on purpose?" _

_He seemed mildly disappointed at the thought._

_She gave him a mysterious smile. "No, I did not forget, Monsieur Dragon. But first - show me yours. Then I will show you mine." _

It had been a blatant challenge to test his sincerity and veracity.

Later in that same meeting, they had discussed the existence of various magical creatures, and they had disagreed over various points:

"_Surely, you exaggerate," she argued. "Puffskeins are a myth, as untrue as Father Christmas and the Easter Hare, told to good wizarding children as bedtime stories to encourage sweet dreaming."_

_Her suitor smiled beguilingly. "Is that so? Perhaps I will have to prove that belief wrong someday."_

_Hermione scoffed and waved a hand negligently in dismissal of the idea. "You may as well save your efforts and conduct a search for the Tooth Fairy, Monsieur. I am sure you would have greater luck locating a pixie to fit_ that_ bill than you would a creature that could match the physical characteristics of a Puffskein."_

Surely, if she were under the influence of a love or lust spell, she wouldn't have shown such arrogant goading; she would have, instead, merely fallen all over The Dragon in an effort to prove her desire for him.

Then there was that moment during the initiation of their third visit, when he'd intimated that it still remained a possibility she would reject him:

_She smiled brightly. "My, my, Monsieur, but you do spoil me."_

_Her charming Dragon grinned devilishly. "And I would continue to do so until you decide you no longer want my attentions, my lovely."_

If he really were being compelled by a magical spell to win her at all costs, would he have even mentioned the possibility of a waning interest in him? He spoke of her having a choice in the matter. Lust spells, she knew from her education, convinced the individual that there was absolutely no possibility of a rejection, and even that the feelings were mutually exclusive. They were all-encompassing, and wholly irrational in that way.

Besides, she'd told herself over and over during their first three interviews that it was all make-believe feeling, and she'd cautioned herself _against_ falling in love with _Monsieur_ Dragon. That seemed a decidedly counter-attitude to being caught in the snare of a love-lust curse, which would have made it impossible for her to even consider such a thought.

No, it had taken her time to convince herself that her favorite suitor was a man she could love. In fact, it hadn't been until four days ago – the night of their last appointment – for her to finally confess the truth to both herself and him. Throughout their meetings, they had talked and teased and debated, and in the doing, they had planted the seed of their love and cultivated its growth. None of it had been forced from or upon her; she had given freely, and not under the sway of some foreign, interloping manipulation.

Like with Pyg, it mattered little how such things had come to pass, only that they _had_. If she and her suitor had been coerced into coming to _La Cerise_ for the purposes of meeting each other, with the hope that love would bloom from such an introduction, then she was thankful for the opportunity, and chose then and there not to view it as a wicked intervention, but rather as a blessing – as the house's spell was intended.

Placing her fingers over her quickly beating heart, she smiled. "I love him. _Me._" Opening her eyes, she beamed at her friend. "No spell can force love. That is something every wizard and witch is taught in school. Not even Amortentia can brew such an emotion. Love is something that is grown and nurtured between people through their talking and touching." Taking a deep breath, she reasoned it out for both her sake, and to answer her friend's final question. "Yes, I recognize that _Monsieur_ Dragon and I have moved quickly from infatuation into a state of tentative, new love for one another, but I also understand that it was a natural progression given the nature of our discourse. I believe I also know the difference between such emotions, for I have been infatuated before - to a man from my past who appeared during my fourth year, during the days of the Tri-Wizard Tournament, but those feelings compared to the ones I share for my silver-eyed suitor… there is no contest as to the difference in intensity and the depth of emotion." She nodded firmly, and grasped Ginevra's hand tight. "Even if such feelings are accelerated by the spell upon this house, I _know_ I love my Dragon on my own, for the soul inside the man seems to be my equivocal match, as you so rightly pointed out yesterday."

Ginny smiled. "You see, you knew it all along. A moment's doubt is all. Pay it no further heed."

They hugged, and Hermione wiped her eyes of her tears. It was then that she noticed her friend's left hand was decorated. Gasping, she drew the gorgeous diamond engagement ring to her face. "Oh! OH! You… last night… he…"

With an excited little bounce, Ginny's face split into the widest beaming smile Hermione had ever seen on a human being. "My Italian has asked for my hand as wife and is going to Madam Sinistra tonight to procure my contract!"

The two women screamed in happiness, jumped up, hugged each other tightly, and began hopping and dancing around like children at Christmas.

"Our plan worked!" Hermione triumphantly boasted.

Ginny nodded. "Yes, I serviced him most thoroughly, as we discussed. In the afters, as he held me, I told him of my intentions to quit _La Cerise_ after the auction this weekend, making the excuse that you and I had discussed plans to travel together to Greece possibly sometime soon and that I had reached my limit living here. It was enough to induce him to action. He bid me wait, and Apparated directly to his home. Minutes later, he returned with this ring, which he explained he'd purchased with the intention of giving to me after the auction. However, since my plans were to leave, he said he'd felt it appropriate to stake his claim immediately, and promptly placed the diamond band upon my finger, taking for granted that I would agree to his proposal – which I did, of course - and then made love to me once more. We took our masks off and told each other our names. He is Blaise Zabini, as I'd secretly guessed in the vaults of my heart that he might be. We went to school together; he was in Slytherin House, and a year above me, and I in Gryffindor. We had never spoken a word to each other back then, but I knew of him." She sighed with longing delight. "Oh, it was the most romantic night of my life, Hermione!" Twirling about in place, she threw her face to the sky and laughed. "I AM IN LOVE!" she shouted in true, unfettered joy.

In that moment, Hermione saw how true love raised a woman's heart up to soar with the angels, and recognized that her own feelings for her Dragon were a mirror to her friend's for this Mr. Zabini.

Ginny suddenly stopped, looked with genuine surprise at Hermione, and then mournfully gasped. "Oh, Merlin, I know who your Dragon is! That blond hair of his and even his alias are dead giveaways. It makes perfect sense! How could I have been so blind?"

Hermione's blood raced through her body with a flush of heat. Panicked, she quickly put her hand over Ginny's mouth. "Wait! Say nothing! If I find out the name of any suitors, my contract is explicit – they must forfeit the auction. You cannot reveal him to me if you know."

The wild elation of the last few minutes was collared as effectively as winter holds back the spring. The women sank onto the edge of the bed together in a partial defeat that altered the mood in the room, turning it chill.

Removing her hand from her friend's person, Hermione apologized for her rash, crude act, but her redheaded friend merely shrugged it off. "I'm sorry I almost ruined your chances," she smiled regretfully. "And besides, the past is best left behind. People change, do they not? I'm certainly not the same naïve child I once was, and my prejudiced stance maintaining House rivalries was abandoned the moment I walked through _La Cerise's_ doors to take my place as a courtesan. If I can find love with a Slytherin – the pronounced enemies of Gryffindor House - then miracles most certainly abound in this world, and I'm sure you'll find happiness with _Monsieur_ Dragon." She smiled gently. "He certainly _has_ changed dramatically since our school days – for the better, it would seem."

The women took their elevenses an hour early together, and then Hermione returned to her rooms to copy a clean transcript of the translations of the basement runes for Madam Sinistra's private files.

Needing a break around noon, she stood up and made her way over to Pyg, who was deep into his nap, lying nestled upon his favorite pillow. It was almost time to wake him for his late afternoon feeding. Reaching out to gently stroke his fur, he nuzzled into her with a sigh, then promptly fell back to sleep.

As she stared down at the light blue ball of fluff, her heart ached. In some ways, he was so like a human boy – getting into mischief, constantly wanting her attention, popping about the room randomly to show off his new magical abilities with an intelligence that crept past the borders of a magical Creature and moved into the realm of a magical Being - that Hermione couldn't help but feel a parental connection to the little Puffskein. With Crookshanks, there had never been a question that he was a pet. He had been incredibly smart, but he hadn't talked, hadn't seemed to crave affection, hadn't seemed to enjoy pushing boundaries, and hadn't seemed to read her thoughts with the same mental clarity as Pyg was wont to do. It was odd to think of him as her surrogate young, but in a way, that was the position he currently held; she cared for him as if he were truly human, and he showed her an affection back that was equal to that as if she were truly his mother.

Yes, she definitely loved her little familiar; he had cast no spell upon her to force such a feeling, she believed in the depths of her heart. Hers was a love freely given to him - and returned with equal care. There was absolutely no doubt in her mind any further.

Tucking her fortified beliefs away deep inside, Hermione gave a final stroke across her familiar's fur, which had morphed in his sleep into a gentle shade of purple, and left him to his dreams. She would wake him later, after her visit with Aurora.

**X~~~~~X**

**_Diagon Alley - London, England_**

**_June 28, 1815 (Wednesday early afternoon)_**

Aurora nervously adjusted the bodice of her gown one more time before answering her door, her stomach knotting in excitement once again at the knowledge that _he_ was coming to see her. She'd refused to allow her sheets to be changed for two days after their last encounter, enjoying his lingering scent upon them.

It was silly, truly, but she felt as if she'd waited her whole life for Severus Snape. No other man had ever made her feel so alive or cherished. The Madam had finally found her Lord.

With a final adjustment of her mask, she opened the door to find her dark-haired lover standing upon the step. In his hand, he held a single red rose, which he silently presented to her. In the proper way, she accepted the flower, right hand up, letting him know she consented to his sentiment. A moment passed between them where their eyes and hearts met, and then she stepped to the side so he could sweep past her, and shut and locked the door immediately to give them privacy.

The words to complete the spell for silence about the room had just finished passing her lips when he was on her. From behind, his arms and body caged her against the door, and his mouth bent to her exposed throat, pressing hot, wet kisses to her flesh. "Take the mask off," he commanded in a low, sibilant murmur against her ear, his long, black bangs sliding over the naked skin of her shoulders. She obeyed, tossing the costume piece to the nearby sofa table. "Now unbutton the dress."

With shaking fingers, she worked the front cinches, having worn an older fashion for precisely this reason as Severus continued nipping and kissing the side of her neck, up over her temple, and down her jaw. "Did you do as I instructed in my note?" he asked in a sinful voice as she got to her abdomen.

Aurora nodded. "Only my garter belt and stockings. Nothing else."

Sinfully chuckling, his hands moved to her waist and began bunching her dress up, slowly sliding the silken fabric over her legs. "Tell me, my Aurora," he bid, lightly kissing the edge of her lips as she turned her head, begging for his mouth. "Do you want me to taste you first?" His fingers trailed closer to the center of her thighs, moving the fabric aside, finding her curls at last and lightly stroking them, just as his other hand roamed up her side to cup her bare breast and begin kneading. "Or can you not wait?"

"Put your lips and tongue all over me, Sev," she panted like a harlot, her heart pounding fiercely in her mouth, her mind whirling with desperate desire. Shading his hands with her own, Aurora directed his movements across her flesh. "I have been daydreaming of it since your last visit."

He kissed the corner of her lips. "As you wish."

Stripping their clothing off each other in a flurry of desperate need, they made love for several hours, first on the couch, fast and reckless, then in her bed, slow and gentle. Her _amant _was attentive and thorough, and she eagerly returned such consideration in her pleasuring of him.

After, as they lay entwined, her wizard approached the very delicate matter of the virgin auction this weekend, confirming her guess as to the identity of the House's patron as being Abraxas Malfoy, the Baron of Swindon, and explaining not only his personal connection to the man, but his discussion with his former Potions Master regarding knocking young Draco, his godson, out of the running.

Aurora stared at the far wall, her cheek resting on his chest, feeling his fingertips glide up and down her arm. "Is this why you came to me today? To convince me not to follow my manager's orders?"

Severus sighed. "It is true that I wished to discuss this with you, Aurora, but no, it was not my primary reason for coming to see you. I wanted to touch you again. I've… missed you."

Glancing up at him through her thick, dark lashes, she stared into his face, looking for any nuance that would give away his words as a lie. She could find none. But then, Severus was extraordinarily good at hiding his true thoughts and feelings, she knew. "Do you love me?" she asked, brutally calm, her voice strong, unshakable. This was one thing he had not told her in all the months of their acquaintance.

Her sly snake sighed, pushing his bangs back from his eyes. "Aurora…"

"Do you _love_ me, Severus?" she inquired again, a little more forcefully. "It's a rather simple question with a rather simple answer."

Before she could move, he had her pinned into the mattress by his bigger, sleeker body, and his dark chestnut-black hair curtained about them. He stared at her with lust and something frighteningly vulnerable. "I would make you mine - you know that. You are the one who keeps refusing my proposals."

Aurora sniffed delicately. "Perhaps it is because I do not know where your heart truly lays, Severus, as you have not told me these past three months."

He stared hard at her with dark brown-almost sable eyes. "Will you remove my charge from the auction on Saturday?"

Calmly, she gazed back at him, but inside her breast, her chest was constricting tighter and tighter, threatening to cut off her breath. "If I do?"

Measuring silence reigned between them for long minutes. In the interim, Severus wedged his way between her widening thighs and inserted himself into her once more. "You won't," he finally stated confidently as he began to move slowly within her. "You are entirely too much a romantic at heart, my Aurora."

Huffing at the insinuation (although inside she knew he understood her too well), she smirked. "I suppose. It just so happens that I have already written my Master arguing the point in your favor – and that without your input, Severus. I do not relish the idea of comforting that young woman if the man she has given her heart to does not possess her greatest treasure in the end."

"Secretly, you want true love to win," he accused.

Her smile transformed from smug into teasing in a moment's notice. "That is the reason I am a Madam of a high-class brothel, _mon amour_. I am _all _about the love."

"Yes, you are," he affirmed passionately, his elegant hands smoothing through her hair, over her cheeks, and down their straining bodies. They kissed as his rhythm increased, and soon, their gasps could no longer be contained, their bodies thrusting against each other towards a mutual completion. He moaned loudly and urged her on with naughty, sweet language. Here in her arms, her Severus let himself go free in a way he never would allow outside her bed, she knew, and that knowledge was heady. "It's why I love you," he cried out as he reached his end and climaxed deep inside her, casting a wandless _Finite Incantatum _at the last moment, nullifying her Anti-Conception Charm.

Aurora smiled with amused joy even as her own orgasm thundered through her greedy body.

He'd finally caught her, the slippery serpent. And in a way that appealed to the devious side of her nature. They were certainly a matched pair, weren't they?

Well, no choice now…

As soon as her breathing and her heart settled, she held her lover to her breast and whispered in his ear the answer to his three previous propositions. "_Oui_, my Severus, I will be your wife now."

**X~~~~~X**

**_Diagon Alley - London, England_**

**_June 28, 1815 (Wednesday mid-afternoon)_**

Draco paced the lobby of _La Cerise_, waiting for Aster to get her skinny backend downstairs to meet him. He'd requested her presence more than fifteen minutes ago, and had been informed by The Keeper, who had gone to deliver the summons to the courtesan, that she was currently unoccupied.

"My Dragon!"

He whirled about in relief. Snow-white hair flew in a curtain behind Aster as she hurried down the stairs to his side. Finally, he could set things to rights between them once and for all! This obsession his former paramour had developed for him _had_ to end today. He intended upon making it clear face-to-face (well, mask-to-mask) that she was no longer in his employ, that he wanted no further notes from her, and that there was to be absolutely no fuss about the circumstance or he would go directly to Madam Sinistra and ask for Aster's dismissal. The last thing he needed was for his Princess to hear false rumors about him carrying on an affair with this Ice Queen, all the while he had been courting his dark-haired beauty.

As Aster attempted to throw herself into his arms in greeting, Draco held his hands out and stopped her cold. "I'm not here for social niceties, Aster. We're here to discuss the termination of our contract."

Sky blue eyes lit up with hope. "Do you desire to negotiate a renewal?"

He shook his head firmly. "No." He glanced around, seeing only Philip Cadwallader as an audience; the man was sitting in a chair before the great hearth (waiting for a lady to answer his summons, no doubt). As long as they kept their voices down, it would probably be best to do this out in an open space, so there would never be any doubt as to his intentions. "Aster, what we had," he began, taking her hand and leading her towards a more private area, so the two other men in the room would not overhear, "it's done. You must accept that. There will be no renewal of our relationship. Not now. Not ever."

As he opened his mouth to continue, he suddenly found himself unable to move a limb or speak. A queer tingling hit and he knew instantly he'd been victimized by some form of magic. The effect was as if he'd been hit with an _Immobilus_ combined with a _Silencio_.

Who? How?

His eyes swept the room… to land on Cadwallader, who was just then tucking his wand back into the sleeve of his robe. The wizard and Aster shared a silent acknowledgement, and Draco suddenly understood that he had terribly underestimated his former lover.

Philip stood and approached them with hurried stride. Walking up to Aster, he flung his arms about her, bent her back and kissed her passionately. It was over quick, as if he couldn't stomach the idea of continuing. "This will be the last time I touch you," he told her softly, brushing her hair off her forehead almost tenderly. Regret, sadness and anger all warred upon his features for dominance. "You know, I thought you better than a common whore, but now I see I was wrong," he stated hard, his voice having gone suddenly cold. He let Aster go as if touching her might somehow disease him. "Now take your payment for services rendered," he shoved two vials into her hand, "and sign off my debt." Reaching into his robes, Cadwallader withdrew a piece of parchment that had some writing already upon it. He dragged Aster by the wrist over to the guest signatory table against one wall that contained the House ledger and took the waiting quill from its ink bottle, pressing the albatross feather writing implement into her hand. "_Sign it._"

Aster tucked her long, straight hair behind her ear as she bent to scribble her name on the space Philip indicated with his index finger, the softer feathers on her mask rubbing against the stiff quill. When it was done, she replaced the quill, Philip blew on the parchment, assuring it dried quickly, and then rolled it up. Reaching behind his head, he took his mask off, laying it down on the table, and then started to walk away, the disgust obvious on his soured face.

"York," the white viper called him to a stop. "You were fun."

Turning dark eyes of regret upon Draco, the wizard deeply sighed. "I'm sorry," he offered. "The mollisher got to me yesterday. She's blackmailing me and could destroy my whole family with what I foolishly did and said to her in the heat of unchecked passion." He turned and sneered at Aster. "But I hope, somehow, you get her back, Dragon. I hope you make her burn with the knowledge that this will be the last time she touches you, too."

With that, he stormed out, wiping at his mouth to erase the residual evil of Aster upon his lips.

Clearly unconcerned with destroying yet another bridge, Aster merely shrugged those petite shoulders of hers and smiled. "Ho, hum. He wasn't that great a lover anyway." Sauntering sexily back towards Draco, she smiled like the Devil's own consort. "Not like you, my Dragon. Or should I say, Draco?"

Shocked to the core of his being, Draco could only blink at her, stunned. How had she known? Who was this woman? She'd always seemed familiar, but for some reason, he couldn't place the voice or those eyes…

A wicked smile crept up the side of her face. "I wanted a piece of you all through school, you know, but it was my older sister you serviced quite thoroughly for most of your seventh year – much to my voyeuristic pleasure." Behind her mask, she blinked innocently. "Of course, back then, my hair was black – the same as Daph's. It's amazing what a Color Charm can accomplish to throw a man off the scent entirely."

She was referring to Daphne Greengrass. Then this was little Astoria.

At least her alias made sense now.

Reaching under her long dress, she pulled her wand out from a thigh holster. "Now, sweetheart, here's what I have to say about your little proclamation that this is the end of us…" She pointed her rod at his head and Draco had only a second to feel undying hatred for this woman, knowing somehow that today she was going to destroy him even more thoroughly than she had poor Philip Cadwallader.

"_Imperio_."

**X~~~~~X**

**_Diagon Alley - London, England_**

**_June 28, 1815 (Wednesday late afternoon)_**

A soft knock brought Hermione's head up from her work. She'd spent all day thus far copying the translations with a fine hand, assuring Madam Sinistra's official records would be irrefutably faithful, in case future generations ever wanted to do more historical research into the runes. Her fingers were stained again with ink, and as she replaced the quill in its ink pot, she reached out for her wand to cast a _Scourgify_ upon them and replace her mask upon her face before answering her summons.

Aurora stood outside her door.

"Oh! Good day, Madam," she curtseyed. "Please, come in. I have results from the task you set me, and I can call up a spot of tea so we could discuss…"

The Abbess shook her head. "We have one more lesson remaining I feel you need to learn, child, before you leave these hallowed halls and launch into adulthood this weekend." She crooked her finger. "Come with me."

"All right, but please give me one moment to collect Pyg," she agreed, and turned to the French doors leading outside to retrieve her familiar.

Pyg was playfully rolling around on the small breakfast table and changing a rainbow of colors in the doing, indicating that he was feeling rather silly at the moment. "I am going someplace with the Madam, little sweetling. I would rather you come inside while I am gone, just to be safe. If you do not mind, that is?"

With a 'pop,' he Disapparated from his spot and reappeared against her throat, nuzzling into her hair. "Oh!" she gasped, then reached out to pet her little friend. "You quite startle me when you do that, you know. Next time, give me fair warning, if you please. Turn green or something."

He cooed in her ear.

"You would like to come along then?" she asked, and he trilled happily in agreement to be going someplace new and exciting. Pyg was certainly the explorer type. "Very well." Plucking him from her mass of curls, she held him to her heart as they walked back to Aurora, who seemed rather impatient from the delay. "I apologize, Madam, but Pyg would like…"

Aurora cut her off rather brusquely. "We haven't much time. Come."

Pyg growled low, perhaps taking offense to how his mistress was treated. Hermione soothed him with gentle petting.

Shutting the door to her apartments behind, she had to admit that she _was_ a tad hurt by the curtness of the woman she'd come to think of as a surrogate mother. Aurora was the same age as her own mother, Eleanor, and she'd served admirably in a maternal capacity over the last few months, filling the space the true Mrs. Granger had voided under Hermione's wrath when the pre-arranged marriage scheme had been revealed unto her. Now, any little disappointment or harsh word from her beloved fosterer (not that there had been any, truly, aside from reminders about her status in the House and emotionally keeping her distance from suitors) stung her like the wasp's bite. For that reason, she held her tongue and walked a pace or two behind the woman, warily watching for social cues.

They headed through her wing of the house into the courtesan wing, and Hermione thought she understood then why she'd been brought here: Aurora had one more illicit liaison she wanted her to witness behind the mirror. Her suspicion was proved out when her guardian opened one of the small panels in the wall between rooms and indicated that she should enter.

As the door shut behind her, sealing them into the dimly-lit space, and she took one of the seats arranged for voyeuristic purposes, already Hermione could hear that the couple behind the fogged glass were in the throes of passion – and it sounded rather a vigorous copulation! Oh, dear.

With a wave of her wand, the Madam cleared the vision for them.

The room was decorated in shades of various blues, richly furnished with heavy velvets and shimmering satin fabrics. The furniture in the room was expensive, if not a little gaudy for Hermione's tastes: a tall French armoire with gilded edges and knobs, a vanity mirror in the corner in a rotating stand, a smaller chiffonier painted white, sumptuous pillows everywhere. A large canopied bed stood empty off to the side and back, for the occupants were currently engaged in play in the center of the room upon a French settee lounger that had most likely been arranged for the express purpose of Hermione's continuing education.

From this angle, all she could see was the woman's legs spread wide to either side, giving an ample view of the action, and the man's backside as he drove relentlessly into the female with a pale Hampton that was length-wise as long as The Italian's, although the girth a thumb's width smaller. Still, he was well-endowed, and his sack was tight and heavy – a _very_ attractive package, she thought. He was also impressively muscled, with sturdy thighs and a strong back, and looked to be agreeably proportioned overall.

She wondered who the performers were, for from here, she could not see their faces or hair, merely their skin slapping together with violent need. Obviously, the woman enjoyed her lover's attentions, for she cried out "yes, yes, harder!" and urged the wizard on towards a faster pistoning motion.

Between her legs, Hermione felt herself moisten, and under her breast, her heart started to pound.

Without warning, against her neck, Pyg started to vibrate and he growled loudly. He even barked once, the sound similar to that of a tiny dog's sharp yap. Godric, how could she have forgotten about him? "Do not look, little sweetling," she urged, putting her hands over him to shield him from the sight, trying to ease his agitation. "This is not something you should see."

"Nor you, child," Aurora informed her rather mysteriously. "I had hoped to spare you this, but after your last interview together, I felt it my duty to protect your heart from this man's deceit."

Blinking in confusion, Hermione turned back to the couple, who had finished their round with loud shouts of ecstasy. This was one of her suitors? But, she'd been clear she didn't want to see such a thing…

Pulling his substantial length out of the woman – was that Aster of the white hair? – the couple were amazingly preparing to go another round as they switched positions, turning so their silhouettes faced the mirror. Hermione narrowed in on the man's mask and hair, trying to discern details… and it was then that she understood the Madam's warning. However, like a victim of Medusa's gaze, by then it was much too late to take her sight back.

The universe came to a horrifying, jolting halt, and in an instant, her heart crumbled as mightily as the walls of Troy before Poseidon's fury.

"Oh, God, _NO!_" she cried out in heartbroken dismay, shooting to her feet, dropping Pyg without thought to place her hands over her mouth. Luckily, her little familiar popped away before hitting the floor. Where he went, she had no mind at the moment to consider.

Helpless to stop looking at the evil unfolding before her, she watched in agonized despondency as her magnificent, platinum-haired Dragon came into his courtesan lover again and again, taking the woman with a violence and eagerness that sickened Hermione to her core. They bit and scratched at each other around their masks like animals, their lithe bodies slamming together repetitively. He orgasmed inside of the witch once more with a triumphant shout to the ceiling, and then they changed around so she was on her knees taking his long, beautiful lobcock into her mouth and sucking upon him with enthusiasm. He pumped his hips, twining his hands into her sheer, alabaster hair with a firm grip, forcing her lower and lower until she nearly choked on him.

Aurora placed a comforting arm about her shoulder. "You see, now, child?" the woman murmured in her ear. "All men are deceivers. Trust not a one of them. That is your final lesson."

"Oh… oh, God, _no_," she whimpered.

Tears destroyed the revelation before her, blocking it effectively from her sight, allowing her to keep her sanity a little longer, yet despite the reprieve, she could still hear them, grunting and moaning and snarling like ravaging beasts. "I cannot breathe," she rasped, clutching her chest tight. "_I cannot_ _breathe!_" Her lungs felt as if they were collapsing right along with her whole world…

With a sob, she fled the room, and ran as fast as she could back to her apartment, screaming and crying in between great, gasping gulps of air. When she reached her door, she slammed it behind her loudly, shutting out the truth. Stumbling to her bed, she threw her mask off and let her sorrow over the betrayal pour out in great waves of anguished howls.

Time held no meaning. Minutes and hours did not exist for her as she lay upon her freshly laundered, lavender-scented sheets and fully experienced her wrenching, gnawing grief. There were her lonely tears, and then there came soft hands rubbing her back, a familiar voice crooning in her ear soothingly. "Shhh, Hermione. Shhh…"

Flipping over with sudden strength, she lunged at her best female friend and hugged her tightly, weeping into her strawberry-scented hair. "Oh, Ginny, he _lied_ to me," she hiccupped. "He does not love me at all! I was right. It was the spell forcing us together. He does not really love me." Cradled in warm arms, she suffered her initial misery all over again. "I want to die. _I just want to die!_"

"Tell me what has happened," her friend bid.

Between shuddering and fresh tears and wailing in despair, Hermione told Ginevra what she had seen, and she found that reliving the memories was as awful as having attended them the first time. By the time she'd finished, she wanted to reach behind her breast and tear her own bloodied heart from her, for surely it would hurt less than living with the truth.

Faithful Ginny soothed her brow, laid her back in her bed, removed her ballet slippers and pulled the covers over her, lulling her into a short rest.

"He does not love me," she whispered, her mind tired of whirling that same thought around for the last hour. "My Dragon…"

That was her last thought before Ginny's wand pressed itself to her temple and darkness overtook her.

**X~~~~~X**

**_Malfoy Manor - Wiltshire, England_**

**_June 28, 1815 (Wednesday evening-to-night)_**

Green linen sheets of the finest weave. Blinking to force his eyes to stay focused, Draco clutched a handful of the familiar sight and brought it to his nose, inhaling. Fresh lavender.

Home.

He was in his bed, back home. How? What time was it? What happened?

With a painful effort, every joint in his body aching and his stomach quite nauseated, he forced himself to his knees. Sweat broke out on his brow from the forced endeavor. It took another five minutes for him to sit up and dangle his legs over the edge of his goose-down mattress.

"What the _fuck_ did you do?"

The voice rang loud in his ears, and tiredly, Draco clapped his hands over them.

"You complete bastard! You've destroyed us both, Drake."

Recognizing the voice, his brain losing the fog of unreality that had clouded it, he groaned. "What… happened?" he croaked, his throat raw and painful.

Zabini loomed over him, completely unconcerned with Draco's undressed state, which he'd only just noticed. "You prigged that Quicunque Vult, Aster, and your Princess witnessed the whole, bloody dog's rig. Now Ginevra refuses to see me, much less marry me. She says that because I keep company with a dark cully, that I'm not trustworthy." A dark hand slapped him upside the head, causing Draco's brain to explode. He fell over onto his side without any fight and lay there, moaning in pain. "Look at you," his best friend sneered. "Too tossed off to fight back. You pathetic nancy."

Getting an elbow under him, Draco tried to make his case before Blaise walked out. "She… _Imperio'd_ me. Made me… drink something. I don't remember… anything… after that." He gasped as he sat up straight, his ribs burning. "The hedge whore… tricked me," he choked just before he vomited between his legs onto the floor. The acidic bile was laced with bitter wormwood, and reminded him of absinthe. Even the color of his bile was sea-foam green. "Help," he managed just before his vision wavered and he lost consciousness.

A mantle clock struck the eight o'clock hour, calling to Draco's consciousness. Something sharp and salty attacked his sinuses as he inhaled, and he jerked away.

"Calm, godson, I am here. Take another deep breath."

Trusting Severus, Draco inhaled and this time, the scent was acrid enough to pry his lids open and bring him back to himself.

"Binky, please prepare the tea as I instructed earlier," his godfather directed the little house elf, who squeaked an affirmative and Disapparated with a loud crack that seared through Draco's brain. He reached for his head, but Snape's hand over his kept him from moving. "Do not squirm about, Draco. You drank enough lust potion to set a mountain troll into a mating frenzy. It has turned to poison in your system, and done damage to your bones and organs. We cannot risk moving you to St. Mungo's for the bad press it will cause, so they've sent a medi-witch here in secret. We will be working together to leach the toxin from your system. In the meantime, I need you to remain calm and do as I say if you plan to recover within the next forty-eight hours."

"She tricked me," he mumbled, his mouth dry, tasting like what he imagined dung would. "Phil, too."

Snape's voice was chilled. "Philip Cadwallader?"

Draco tried nodding, but his head split open when he nudged it downward. "Yes."

There was shuffling in the room, and then the door opened and shut. Another crack of thunder caused Draco to wince and whimper from the pain that shot through his skull.

"Excellent, Binky. Please stay and await my instructions," his godfather calmly commanded. "Mr. Zabini, help him to sit up. Gently."

There was a shifting on the bed, which jarred every bone in Draco's body, causing him to gasp. "I'm sorry, Drake, but we're going to have to move you around a bit, old chum." Hot hands touched his skin, making him shiver. Cradled carefully, he was lifted into a sitting position. The action caused him to draw in breath through clenched teeth, as he attempted to manage his pain.

A cup was lifted to his lips. "Drink all of this up, Mr. Malfoy," a kind, elderly woman charged. With a tilt, hot liquid poured into his mouth. Trying to swallow it was painful, but he somehow managed. "Excellent," the woman congratulated. "Now, just four more cups of the same."

It took until the clock rang nine times for Draco to finish the prescribed number of chalky, charcoal-flavored tea cups, and by then, he had to use the facilities desperately. It was a humiliating effort being levitated to the water closet, shut in alone, and then proceeding to sick-up everything he'd just ingested and almost collapsing to the floor as a result. Thank Slytherin's soul for Binky, who came to his Master's aid without comment, and could use magic easily to clean everything up and make Draco presentable again.

So it went, all through the night – every two hours drinking the tea, then proceeding to vomit and, by other means, evacuate his system of the poison Astoria had shoved into his body. The only thought that kept him from turning his wand on himself and ending it all was that he had to somehow survive to explain matters to his Princess. Blaise had said she'd seen everything, and he knew what that meant – she would reject him now. It was their end.

Draco refused to allow that to happen. Malfoys never gave up, no matter what the sacrifice, and for the sake of his witch's love, he would endure anything to win her heart back.

**X~~~~~X**

**_Diagon Alley - London, England_**

**_June 28, 1815 (Wednesday night)_**

After ingesting a restorative and casting Healing Charms upon her extremely sore, over-stretched body, Astoria waited under the covers of her bed for Theodore to return to her side as he promised.

At last, she had the means to force Draco Malfoy to his knees. Under the effect of Polyjuice Potion, taking on the guise of that cow, Madam Sinistra, Theo had arranged for the Princess to witness Astoria and Draco's little sex marathon this afternoon, and had been assured that the woman had been sufficiently destroyed by the scene. She would reject him from the auction post-haste, no doubt, if she hadn't already. Too bad, so sad, goodbye!

But that hadn't been all she and her lover were after…

Absently, she rubbed her belly. She and Draco had rogered for over four hours today, and he'd climaxed inside every hole in her body at least five times at a stretch – double that in her quim, she was sure. If she wasn't impregnated by such a herculean effort, she'd eat her hat.

Theo had promised her marriage in return for raising the child together. They would live happily off of the blackmail money they planned to extort from the young lordling Malfoy for the rest of their lives, and Draco would have to subsist with the knowledge that his true heir and firstborn was a bastard child raised by his bastard, elder half-brother and by the woman he'd tossed away in favor of a love that was eventually lost to him.

Oh, the twisted irony was simply delicious! There _was_ some justice in the world, after all.

Theodore did not knock; he simply walked in, locked the door behind him, and began stripping off his clothes as he stalked across the room towards her. "You're healed?"

Astoria sat up, letting the covers drop to her narrow waist, and leaned back on the palms of her hands, thrusting her pink nipples out at him. "Quite."

"Good," he stated, reaching for his trouser opening. "Then get on your hands and knees for me."

Assuming the correct position, Astoria waited with great anticipation. Her body may have been well-used today, but thoughts of being taken by Theo made it tighten with greedy need. He didn't check her readiness, but simply grabbed a hold of her hips, aligned his tip at her entrance, and slammed inside, burying himself completely within her sheathe. He moved immediately, giving no quarter, his thrusts roughly possessive. She gasped in pleasure.

"Like that, do you?" he asked darkly, gripping her hips with enough force to bruise. "You like me knocking you about, dove?"

Astoria threw her head back, let him grip her hair and pull hard, forcing her spine to curve, giving him deeper access. "Did you like watching me fuck him today?" she daringly asked in deflection around her cries of satisfaction, and received a very sharp slap to her bottom with his free hand for her impertinence. The pain shot her excitement into new realms of desire. "Were you jealous to see your brother come into me again and again?" she continued to antagonize, receiving a series of harder smacks for her cruel taunting. This, she could come to love!

Nott bent over her and twisted one of her nipples hard in punishment. "Drat you, be quiet, whore!"

"He felt good inside my cunnie," she continued with malicious delight, snickering.

"Not as good as I do," her _amoureux_ snarled jealously, standing back up and increasing his pace until he was pounding into her with hard, fast, deep strokes. "You're _mine_, Toria - mine to do with as I want. Never again _his_." He slapped her creamy skin again, rouging it. "Say it, you cockish wench! Say you're mine!"

She laughed wickedly knowing the power had shifted between them, and felt immense strength with the knowledge; he needed her more than she needed him now, and they both knew it.

He continually, fiercely spanked her, making her yelp in pleasure-pain. "Say it or I'll release you without a buttered bun and I'll find another slag to exact my revenge."

Astoria's heart squeezed in denial. He wouldn't just leave her like that, would he? He wouldn't dare tup another woman! Scowling in anger, she looked over her shoulder at him. "If you bring another woman to your bed, I'll kill her," she threatened with a snarl.

Just like that, the power shifted again, and she realized her mistake in letting him read her own jealousy. With a knowing smirk, Theodore continued ramming his beautiful _gladius_ into her ring, staring her down with amusement. He yanked her hair again, forcing her spine to curve and dip for him. "Then say what I want to hear, my pretty flower."

Arching an eyebrow, she frowned. "No man owns me."

He lost his amusement in a heartbeat and pulled out of her, moved back several steps.

Flipping onto her back, Astoria closed her legs and sat up on her elbows to glower at him. Both of them were breathing heavily, both too stubborn to surrender easily. Their contest of wills was silent, but clear – neither would give and, yet, neither wanted to walk away either, it seemed.

Slytherin training kicked in for both of them, and they smiled in wicked amusement at each other seconds later. "I still want you," she admitted.

His hot glance traveled over every inch of her skin. "I still want you."

_Why fight it?_, she internally capitulated. They could work out the details later - after the sex.

Hopping off the mattress at just the same moment that he stepped towards her, they met with hell's fire and passion somewhere in the middle, kissing voraciously, their arms tightly held about the other. Within seconds, they were back on the bed, grinding together with sensual heat.

"I believe I could love you, my wicked, little thorn," Theo admitted as he adjusted her legs over his shoulders and bent over her, bringing her knees to her ears and re-entered her with vigorous force.

Astoria grinned, gasping as he lunged continually into her with all his weight. "Marvelous, because I believe… _ooh!_... I could love you back… _ah, yes!_... my dark, fiendish wizard," she admitted, cooing in pleasure, her nails digging into his shoulder, leaving bloodied, crescent gouges, marking him as hers.

"Excellent," he purred as their mouths met, and with a final measure of hard shoving, they both released at the same moment, biting each other's lips and breaking skin.

Lapping at the salty flavor of her lover's blood, enjoying the feel of his warm seed jettisoning up inside her, Astoria sighed in happiness.

The Queen of Hell had secured her King, finally.

* * *

**_TO BE CONTINUED…_**

**_

* * *

_**

**AUTHOR'S NOTES:**

**"Where cheating is, there's mischief there." -A quote from William Blake, the poet.**

**Father Christmas = Also known as Santa Claus, Saint Nicholas, Sinterklaas, Kris Kringle, or simply "Santa", is a historical, legendary and mythological figure who, in many Western cultures, is said to bring gifts to the homes of the good children during the late evening and overnight hours of Christmas Eve, December 24, or on his Feast Day, December 6 (Saint Nicholas Day). In the United Kingdom and Europe, he is often depicted in a manner identical to the American Santa Claus, but he is commonly called _Father Christmas_. Saint Nicholas of Myra is the primary inspiration for the Christian figure of Santa Claus. He was a 4th century Greek Christian bishop of Myra (now Demre) in Lycia, a province of the Byzantine Anatolia, now in Turkey. Nicholas was famous for his generous gifts to the poor.**

**The Easter Hare = The Easter Bunny or Easter Hare (sometimes Spring Bunny in the U.S.) is a character depicted as a rabbit bringing Easter eggs, who sometimes is depicted with clothes. In legend, the creature brings baskets filled with colored eggs, candy and sometimes also toys to the homes of children on the night before Easter. The Easter Bunny will either put the baskets in a designated place or hide them somewhere in the house or garden for the children to find when they wake up in the morning. Bringing Easter eggs seems to have its origins in Alsace and the Upper Rhineland, both then in the Holy Roman Empire, and southwestern Germany, where the practice was first recorded in a German publication in the early 17th century.**

**The Tooth Fairy - The legend of the Tooth Fairy is about a fairy that gives children money or gifts in exchange for baby teeth that have fallen out. Children typically place the tooth under their pillow at night. The fairy is said to take the tooth from under the pillow and replace it with money once they have fallen asleep. In early Europe, it was a tradition to bury baby teeth that fell out. The tradition is still very much alive and well in Ireland and Great Britain, where it is common for young children to believe in the Tooth Fairy.**

**When discussing the peerage and how to address them, you may do so in a number of ways, depending upon the medium of introduction (in person or on paper) and the formality of the setting. For the sake of my fanfics (this one included), I have created the fictitious Barony of Swindon (it doesn't actually exist, but is the region where Wiltshire in England is located). For this story, Abraxas Malfoy is the eldest Malfoy heir and therefore the current Baron of Swindon (the title will pass to Draco when Abraxas either abdicates or dies). **

**For the sake of this fanfic, Severus Snape is 48 years old, and Aurora Sinistra is 40 years old and it is a first (only) marriage for both of them. I figured they both had wanted children (after all, Severus teaches kids in the real "Harry Potter" novels, so he must harbor _some_ enjoyment from it, even if he appears not to), but just had never met the right person before this.**

**Mollisher = Victorian and Regency Era slang for, "a woman, often a villain's mistress."**

**Lobcock = Victorian and Regency era slang for, "a large, relaxed penis."**

**Prigged = Victorian and Regency Era slang for "had sexual intercourse with."**

**Quicunque Vult = Victoria and late Regency Era slang for "A forward girl, ready to oblige every man that shall ask her." Same as an "Athanasian Wench" (see Chapter 6 notes).**

**Dog's Rig = Victorian and late Regency Era slang for "copulating until you are completely tired out/expended, then run off quick/turn tail to it."**

**Dark Cully = Victorian and late Regency Era slang for "A married/spoken for man who keeps a mistress, whom he visits only at night for fear of discovery."**

**Hedge Whore = Victorian and late Regency Era slang for "A lowly beggar prostitute who does it by the roadside, under hedges because no bordello will take her in."**

**Rogered = Medieval British slang for "had sex." The etymology of the name itself is Germanic, and comes from _rod_, meaning 'fame,' and _gzer_, meaning 'spear.' Roger = famous with a spear (which is slang for a 'penis').**

"**Drat you, be quiet" = A favorite usage of language by Charles Dickens in his stories. This is a small homage to him.**

**Cockish Wench = Victorian and late Regency Era slang for "A forward and demanding woman."**

**Buttered Bun = Victorian and late Regency Era slang for "A vagina that has recently been used by a man and contains his semen inside, and then is used by a different man in the same way, so that their semen combines." In modern times, this would be called a 'double creampie.' (gross!)**

**Tup = Victorian and Regency Era slang for "have sex with."**


	9. Ch 8: Method To The Madness

**_CHAPTER EIGHT: METHOD TO THE MADNESS_******

**_Diagon Alley - London, England_**

**_June 29, 1815 (Thursday very early morning)_**

Hermione awoke with a start, her lids snapping open, her heart racing, her nightmare chasing her into consciousness with malicious glee. Panting, she stared at the too-white ceiling, recognizing it as belonging to the bedroom she'd occupied at _La Cerise_ for the last several months, and instantly despising its glare cast against her too-dry, swollen eyes. With a sigh, she rolled over onto her side and stared at the far wall, noting the artistry of the trim's molding instead, watching the just-rising sun creep its way through the curtains nearby.

None of it was a dream, was it? She really _had_ been called unto and then trapped inside these hateful walls by an ancient spell whose intent was to induce her to fall in love with a man who was a magnificently deceitful liar, for the express purpose of breeding with him to fulfill his family's destiny. And this fate will have been splendidly accomplished because _she'd_ been greedy in wanting to carve out a future of her own making – enough so that she'd sell her own body off to the highest bidder in an auction that she now knew to have been magically rigged from the start.

In a storm of bitter tears, she cursed her parents for putting her into this predicament in the first place. Their good intentions had unequivocally paved her way straight into hell.

How could _he_ have done this to her? She'd trusted him - loved him.

Closing her eyes, she tried unsuccessfully to block out the visions of her beloved Dragon thrusting his beautiful body away into that vile woman, of the lusty cries of passion she'd heard echoing off the tall ceiling in the blue, frumpy bedroom, of his shout of triumph as he released his seed into her foul canal… Crying into her pillow, she allowed herself to feel her misery one more time. How was it possible that she could still love him despite his betrayal?

The spell. It was that ancient enchantment having its way with her once more, trying to _force_ her mind and heart to forgive.

Swallowing her sorrow, grasping her anger tightly with her heart's fisted glove, she rose to her feet, determined to take steps to prevent the House from coercing her hand ever again.

An hour later, she was at the Madam's door, her hands shaking from a lack of sustenance and dreamless sleep and from an abundance of personalized terror. It took several knocks before the witch answered, and she was dressed merely in a morning gown and slippers. Long ago, when she'd first approached Aurora about the virginity auction, the two women had met bare-faced. As soon as the door shut behind her, Hermione removed the velvet butterfly mask once more.

The Abbess took one look at her swollen lids, her reddened eyes, and her crimson cheeks and drew in a deep, concerned breath. "My dear, whatever has happened?" she cried in dismay, leading her charge to a sitting couch.

Hermione glanced at the woman as if she were daft. "What happened? What do you mean? You were there. You saw."

Aurora blinked in confusion. "Darling, whatever are you talking about?"

"Is this a twisted jest?" she demanded in a low, cold tone, refusing to sit as offered. "You must have an iota of understanding as to why I have come here this early in the day," she insisted, swallowing the metaphorical lump in her throat and charging onward. "I wish to eject The Dragon as a final bidder. I no longer desire his suit."

The Abbess was obviously flabbergasted with the idea. "But why would you do this?" she stammered, sincerely alarmed by the prospect. "I thought you and _Monsieur _Dragon seemed utterly compatible."

Her body quaking in ire, Hermione moved to the door. "I do not know what game you are playing, _Madame_, but I will not stand for it." She knew then that there had been a fundamental shift in her opinions of the woman who had once been a mother to her. Overnight, it seemed, the older witch had morphed from a trustworthy, guiding hand into a reflection of her cruel, childhood tormentor: a Muggle school marm from her early years, who's smartly-rapping, cracking ruler was always prepared to mete out merciless, brutal 'lessons' upon Hermione's petite person. Some innocence between them had been lost forever yesterday in that stifling, dark space behind the mirror.

Brushing back new tears and reaching for the brass handle, Hermione paused, rudely keeping her back to the mistress of _La Cerise_ merely on the grounds that she was unsure of her temper at that moment, which was being held in check by a mere thread. "You will send him a letter at once informing him of the change, and come Sunday, you and I will have nothing more to say to one another, ma'am."

The woman made protests as Hermione quickly replaced her mask over her cheeks and threw open the door…

…only to find the second object of her torment standing with hand raised for knocking upon the House Mistress' door, white-feathered mask jerking back in surprise.

There was a stunned moment of silence, and then a rather cruel, knowing smirk wound its way up Aster's cheek. Looking into those sky-blue eyes in that moment, Hermione understood: this woman _knew_ she had been watched yesterday, and she also knew by whom.

"Good morning, _Princess_," she sneered at the name, smirking maliciously. "Have a nice day, yesterday?"

Sanity snapped, and with a vicious swipe, Hermione ripped the other woman's elegant, Italian-crafted disguise off and threw it to the ground, stomping and breaking it with her leather-soled shoes. She followed that up immediately with a vicious slap that rocked the other woman back several steps. "You spiteful bitch, bob tail whore!" she seethed at the shocked witch in a cold, low tone. "I hope you catch the pox!"

With that, she marched away, back straight, and managed not to lose her composure until the door to her room was locked behind her once more. Safely tucked away in her temporary sanctuary, she ran across to her bed, threw her mask aside without care and buried her face in her pillow, crying her heart out.

It was done. She would never have to see _him_ again.

**X~~~~~X**

**_Diagon Alley - London, England_**

**_June 29, 1815 (Thursday morning – minutes later)_**

After a half hearted attempt to comfort a ragingly irate Aster (who hysterically demanded the dismissal of The Princess from the House for the violence perpetrated upon her person by the other witch – a request flatly refused by the Madam), Aurora finally managed to send the distressed woman back to her apartment, broken mask in hand, with promises to replace it and to see to her needs anon.

As soon as Aster was out of sight, Aurora rushed into her private study and immediately penned a letter to her fiancé regarding her charge and the implications of what the woman had just ordered. Ten minutes later, sending the note off with a house elf immediately, with instructions to find Severus Snape and place the missive only in his hands, she slumped afterwards in her favorite chair in her sitting room with her head in her hands and considered the situation with grave measurement.

Technically, it was against the rules for her to stall on writing the second, obligatory letter – the one to be delivered to _Monsieur_ Dragon with the heartbreaking news - until she had heard back from her lover, but since they were _her _rules, she could choose to stretch their requirements out from time-to-time, as she saw fit, and with none the wiser. This was one such moment.

What had happened to cause her charge enough anger and hurt to illicit such an extreme response? Never had Hermione spoken to her, nor looked at her, with such loathing. Something smelled foul about the whole situation, and by the way The Princess had acted towards Aster, she could only assume that the white-haired witch had enacted the old plan to knock The Dragon out of the race in a fashion that was decidedly hurtful to Miss Granger. If that were the case, then all of this was her fault, for she had forgotten to rescind that order!

She would find out the truth of the matter presently… and the place to start was with Aster.

Making her way to the woman's room, she knocked thrice, waited, and when no response was forthcoming, she entered the quarters, her right as the Madam of the establishment allowing her such a freedom. Aster was not in residence, however, and her room had been emptied of its personal items – except the broken, white-feathered mask, which sat crookedly, mockingly on the neatly-made bed, staring with empty eye sockets at the impersonal room. It appeared to her untrained, but suspicious eye as if the decision to leave had not been rushed in the heat of emotional disturbance, but purposefully planned, illustrated by the fact that the room was not in a shambles, but neat and orderly.

Aster had checked out of _La Cerise _on her own accord, and apparently, had intended to do so well in advance.

What was that minx really up to?

"I'll find out for you!"

Aurora turned, and to her utmost surprise, a young boy – no more than seven years of age – was standing behind her. He was dressed fashionably; his short, brown hair and somber grey eyes were decorated by an adorable sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of his nose. When he smiled, he seemed very familiar to the House Madam, although she could not place him with a name.

"I can find the white-haired lady anywhere now that I know what she smells like!" he enthusiastically explained, his hands pumped in fists up near his heart. "I'll go and spy for you."

With a 'pop,' the boy disappeared, using highly-advanced magic without a wand and with little-to-no apparent concentration.

_Things have just gotten decidedly strange around here_, Aurora thought, still unsure what exactly in Napoleon's name was going on, and to whom the child belonged. She was determined to find out.

As she left Aster's former apartments, Angel approached her, crying. "Madame, I have distressing news," the woman confessed, her hand rubbing her lower belly absently, and with a flash of insight, it became clear what the ebony-skinned beauty was to divulge. Internally sighing, Aurora accepted that she would be losing _another_ courtesan within the next day or two – and this one of her most popular ladies, especially with those twin redheaded young men.

Comforting the witch with a sheltering arm and soft shoulder, she led Angel back to her apartments so she could calm the young woman down. Her mind was already a blur with the details of things to do: she'd have to call in a medi-witch from St. Mungo's to confirm the pregnancy first and foremost, and if it proved to be a certain thing, they would then need to determine the identity of the possible father, calling him (or them, as the case may be) in for the medi-witch to perform a paternity spell. After would come the discussion of terminating the woman's contract with the House, and arranging for Angel's transfer of custody - either unto the father of any baby she might have conceived (if he would have her for his wife), or back into her parents' temporary keeping (as all contracts of the House required, regardless of the legal age status of the witch). Legal and accounting arrangements would then have to be made immediately thereafter…

It seemed her wild goose chase of Aster would have to be put on hold temporarily.

**X~~~~~X**

**_Malfoy Manor - Wiltshire, England_**

**_June 29, 1815 (Thursday early afternoon)_**

Draco was gently woken by his house elf for his next batch of poison-leaching tea. It had been a horrid night, passed in the company of his best friend, his godfather, the medi-witch and the serving creature, and marked by a series of delirious moments, punctuated with occasioned lucidity as the lust potion turned his system inside out.

Despite the gloom of the room – the curtains were not to be drawn until it was 'safe,' he heard the nurse instruct the elf firmly – his swollen eyes cringed against the light from the hearth's fire. It was stiflingly hot, and in a croaking voice, his throat gone as raw as red meat from all of the vomiting, he shakily told them all so. Immediately, a cool, damp cloth was pressed to his forehead, wiped around his face and neck.

"Easy, godson," Severus gently bid. "You are far from being out of the woods, although you are improving."

He swallowed what felt like acid. "Princess," he rasped, feeling his mind slipping back into darkness.

"Mr. Zabini, sit him up immediately!"

The room spun as he was forced up, and Draco's lids shut to protect him. The nausea didn't abate however, and it was with a decided lack of panache that he expelled the contents of his belly once more – right onto his friend's chest.

Blaise swore aloud in resignation. "My shirt - _again!_"

Cold water was forced down his throat as his head was tipped back, and he nearly choked at the iciness that speared through his back teeth and into his jaw.

"I fear you are wrong, my Lord Snape. You charge appears to be worsening," an elderly woman spoke, and Draco somehow recognized it was the St. Mungo's healer. His brain turned her words over. Was he going to die then?

"No," he shook his head. "I… _won't_… give in," he stubbornly refused, willing his weakened limbs to work at his command, commanding his body to fight back and his lungs to stop panting with the most impotent of efforts. "My Princess…" With concentration and turning aside the dull, throbbing pain in every joint in his hand, he gripped Zabini's arm. "Help me… for her."

In his wavering vision, his friend nodded. "We'll get you better, and we'll be in time for that auction."

Draco shook his head willfully, forcing his eyes to stay open, to continually blink. "Dance… Friday. I… have to… see her. To explain."

There was a moment's pause, as if the occupants in the room were trading silent communication through their looks, and then the medi-witch was there at his direct side, ushering Severus out of the way. With a dizzying wave of her wand, she cleaned up Draco's expectorated mess over the bed coverlets and his best friend's clothing, and with another, she levitated a teapot and a cup, poured the contents, and then placed the rim of the china to his lips.

"Then you shall have to drink up, Mr. Malfoy," she crisply informed him in a brook-no-attitude tone. "And after this treatment, we will walk you about and force you to use your legs. The increase in blood flow should help move the poison along faster through your system." He drank as she explained the plan to him. "Your liver toxicity will set in rapidly by the efforts, and we will have to perform a radical leaching upon you to remove the poison quickly before it destroys the organ, but it is the only thing that will have you well by tomorrow." She sighed darkly. "You will most likely appear a cadaver, however. I advise you to reconsider and give it until Saturday."

Stubbornly, Draco shook his head. "Tomorrow."

The woman sighed. "Very well. Gentlemen," and it was obvious that she was addressing Snape and Zabini, "make no plans to leave anytime soon. We've got a long day, night and then again ahead of us all."

Everyone, even Draco - albeit weakly - groaned.

"Binky, I'll need to send a letter right away. Can you write?" Blaise required of the small creature.

"Yes, sir. Binky can read and write, sir," the house elf replied with enthusiasm.

Blaise shifted, and Draco was forced once more to shut his eyes as the room spun about. "Good, then take down what I'm about to say, and make sure it gets immediately into the hands of _Le Renard Rouge_ at _La Cerise_ in Diagon Alley. Apparate there yourself and personally deliver it unto her hands." His lips moved in close to Draco's ear. "You're going to need someone to corroborate your story, my brother, and my paramour has become your lady's ear and shoulder over the course of the last few weeks. She will smooth the way for your reconciliation."

Draco could only grunt in thanks before he unceremoniously heaved up the frothy contents of his stomach once again all over his best friend's silken cravat and shirt.

"Bloody, buggering hell!" Zabini sighed, and Draco thought that exclamation aptly summated the _entire_ situation.

**X~~~~~X**

**_Diagon Alley - London, England_**

**_June 29, 1815 (Thursday mid-afternoon)_**

Hermione finished reading the letter Harry had sent her, regarding coming to the Ball tomorrow night incognito to inspect her suitors himself, and to assure of her continued comfort and happiness. He had acknowledged that such a covert maneuver was breaking the rules of the House, as he was technically not allowed to see her until after the auction had ended according to her contract, but he indicated that he felt very strongly about guaranteeing her best interests were secured, and so could not be swayed from this course of action. Intimating that he had a friend 'on the inside' who planned to slip him into _La Cerise's_ ballroom so he could observe the proceedings and talk with her tomorrow, he closed the letter with his heartfelt love and eternal friendship.

She considered writing him back, informing him of the situation, but eventually decided against it. It would only aggravate her best male friend to know that she'd given her heart away so foolishly, and most likely disconcert him to know that her will was no longer interested in the proceedings a bit. She would quit today, in fact, but for Harry's future happiness with Luna.

With that firmly in mind, she forced herself to tuck his letter away in her desk drawer with the remainder of the stack of correspondence she'd maintained over the months she'd been in the House.

Ginny entered her rooms then without even a knock, her rush to get to Hermione's side overwhelming good manners. "My Italian has written with word of Drac… your Dragon!" she excitedly thrust a note before her and pointed to the passage in the long correspondence. "See, here? He says…"

Hermione tuned out her friend, concentrating on reading the letter's every detail:

_Beloved,_

_I am hastily penning this note to beg your indulgence in not acting rashly in regards to dissolving our betrothal. I am most sincere in my everlasting affection for you, my Ginevra, and I will not allow our engagement to be broken without the opportunity to present my side of this exchange. Absolutely do not remove the ring from your hand - I beg this favor of you!_

_In regards to my friend… I am cautioned by legal counsel not to give away too many details in printed form, for this matter is extremely delicate and correspondence by owl entirely too unreliable to trust fully. Should the press get their hands on this note, it could tip our plans, and so suffice to say that the nature of the incident your friend, The Princess, witnessed yesterday was not as it initially appeared. His love for her is boundless, his loyalty to her unrelenting._

_I will come to you anon and explain all as soon as my friend is recovered enough for me to leave his side. He is currently ill from the appalling trespasses made against his person yesterday, and hovers between wakefulness and unconsciousness constantly. I cannot risk leaving him thus, and am aiding in his recovery. I ask you to please allow a day or two more before we can be reunited for me to assure my friend and brother convalesces and recuperates properly._

_I love you, my sweet fox. You are a constant presence in my heart and mind._

_Yours forever,_

_~ B_

The Dragon was unwell, balanced between the conscious world and the sleeping one as a result of 'trespasses against him'? Had he been hexed then? Is that what Ginny's lover was implying?

"So, it seems there may be an explanation after all for your Dragon's behavior," her friend reiterated the thoughts already flying through Hermione's head. Her warm hand on her shoulder was solidly designed for encouragement. "Don't give up hope yet, sister mine."

Hermione swallowed the lump in her throat, took a hitching breath and unavoidably burst into tears again. Ginny took the letter from her shaking hands and put it aside, kneeling before her to grasp her hands in a warm embrace. "Are these tears of relief?" asked, clearly concerned.

Shaking her head, Hermione sobbed harder. "I rejected him this morning," she confessed, heart-sore and angry with herself over her hasty action. "I asked the _Madame_ to rescind his bidder's status! He cannot participate on Saturday now, regardless of his reasons."

"Can you not talk to Aurora and annul the repeal?" Ginny asked in exasperation.

Hermione shook her head. "Once the letter has gone out, it is legal. There is no retraction allowed." Moaning over her and Ginevra's clasped hands, she rocked back and forth, her words rushing from her mouth, unfiltered, her panic hitting epic proportions. "What if it _was_ all an illusion? What if he didn't really betray me by his own will? Did the spell on the House do something to him or was it a curse or hex from an outsider? Oh, I am unsure of anything anymore! I do not know what to trust… And, I have not seen Pyg since yesterday when I accidentally dropped him in the room behind the mirror, and I am _so_ worried. What if he was hurt by my careless handling? What if he is lost and alone out there somewhere? I must find him! And my Dragon… oh, my beautiful Dragon… I cannot undo the cut! If it truly was not his fault, I have made a grave error, and now… He will not want me as discarded seconds after another man has had me, I know it!"

She was working herself up into a right state, but thank goodness Ginny was there to guide her back to her bed, where she removed her slippers and was tucked under the covers. "Wait here. I will be right back," her friend offered, and hurried from the room. Hermione closed her tired eyes and tried to force her panic aside, yet the more she pushed, the more it weighed down upon her.

"Pyg!" she called out, sobbing. "Pyg, where are you?" There was no response, and this only made her chest squeeze tighter. "Please, I am sorry," she murmured over and over again. "Come home, Pyg. Come home."

"Here, drink this," Ginevra offered, reappearing minutes later, tipping her head off the pillow and placing a vial at her lips. "It's a Calming Draught combined with a Dreamless Sleep Potion. It will allow you to properly rest so you may regain focus. Right now, you are too much in the center of the storm, and that magnificent brain of yours is overtaxing itself with dark thoughts."

Hermione downed the contents in a single swallow, and within seconds, was drifting on calming seas. The white ceiling of her room was graying out. "Do not go," she heard herself beg.

Ginny's red hair and pale features were fuzzy as she leaned over her. "I won't. I'll stay right here with you all night. Sleep easy."

With that, Hermione fell into a wonderfully cooling, black mist and her brain finally found a measure of peace.

**X~~~~~X**

**_Malfoy Manor - Wiltshire, England_**

**_June 29, 1815 (Thursday early evening)_**

Severus' note, sent that morning at the same time as Mr. Zabini's, had obviously (eventually) reached its intended target, for it was with swift, concerned stride that Abraxas Malfoy parted the doors to Draco's master bedroom with an absent wave of his wand, his black robes whirling behind him like the Devil's Cape itself. He took one look at his heir's state of dishabille, and in that moment, Severus saw the truth in his former Master's cobalt-colored eyes: the man loved his grandson, no matter his words regarding the boy's mother's heritage. How could he not, considering how much he looked like Lucius at the very same age?

"What has happened?" he simply asked, and Severus indicated that they seek a quiet corner of the room in which to converse. Unfolding the note that had arrived from Aurora earlier, he passed it to his godfather. In short order, the man had read the disquieting news, his lips pursing in perturbation. He handed it back. "Explain."

Mentally rolling his eyes in irritation at the typical display of haughty Malfoy superiority, Severus elucidated the details he had gathered from his godson via the man's best friend. "From the little I could discern, apparently he has been the victim of an elaborate swindle, perpetrated by a witch of his acquaintance from _La Cerise_ by the name of Aster. Using a lust potion and the Imperius Curse, she managed to… copulate quite vigorously... with our young Draco yesterday for several hours." He sniffed in disgust. "The foolish woman gave him a harrowing, near-fatal dose of the potion, however, and we have been working tirelessly since last night to save him. His recovery is a bit better than fifty percent at the moment, but not by much. He is still too fragile to attempt casting Legilimency upon him at this stage of the treatment, however, so we must be patient and wait to learn more of the facts as he is able to tell us."

In an uncharacteristic display of frustration, Severus pushed his long bangs out of his face and snarled, keeping his voice low, but allowing his ire to peek to the forefront. "It is my conjecture that this Aster accidentally poisoned him, as she clearly meant to conceive a child from the union for most likely blackmail purposes - to gain access to the vast Malfoy treasury." He looked pointedly at Abraxas, his sardonic loathing curling off his viper's tongue. "Although unoriginal, it is a scheme well-demonstrated to be effective against this family, ironically enough."

His Master took the jibe with a scowl of his own, but did not deign to argue the truth of the matter. "Can you save him?" he asked, real concern softening his voice and gaze as he took in the ailing form of his only grandson. "You _must _save him."

Severus conceived the perfect opportunity in that moment, and he found his Slytherin heart taking advantage for the sake of the young man he loved like his own son. "Very well, I will make you a deal, Abraxas: I will save your sole heir, and the only connection you have left to Lucius, and in exchange, you will allow Draco to attend the auction this Saturday as a bidder, and if he should ask his Princess to be his in marriage after, you will not interfere in that decision."

He waited, calming his breath and heart rate, wearing a mask of outward composure, despite inside feeling as if a roiling mass of serpents had taken up residence in his belly. It was dangerous to play such a game with Abraxas Malfoy, for one never knew which way the snake would strike.

The tiniest twitch in amusement graced his godfather's cheek, however, and Severus knew he had won this round. "You have a deal, Snape." His expression shifted in an instant, and hard, steely-blue eyes the color of a stormy sea turned upon him. "Save him, no matter the cost. I will handle this Aster."

With a bow of both agreement and reverence, Severus turned his attention back to the tea ingredients he'd been crushing in a pestle prior to his former Master's appearance. He would trust Abraxas to get to the bottom of the plot and enact his revenge as appropriate. If anyone could, it was a former Death Eater, after all.

Several minutes later, when Draco evacuated the contents of his stomach once more, this time into a ceramic bedpan that Mr. Zabini hastened to place under his mouth, Severus looked up worriedly… only to find his godfather had already gone, never one to linger where he felt unwanted.

"Binky, I have another letter I need dictated," he stated, getting down to business, and the house elf jaunted to his side quickly, levitating some parchment and the ink bottle and quill from across the room to his side. "This one must be sent to the Madam at _La Cerise_ immediately."

As he relayed the plan and the little creature faithfully transcribed it to paper, he noted his charge's best friend turn his way in curiosity.

Yes, they were going to be cutting this one close, he knew, but he would do what he could for Draco, and pray it would be enough.

**X~~~~~X**

**_Diagon Alley - London, England_**

**_June 29, 1815 (Thursday mid-evening)_**

Aurora received Severus' letter by owl, and let out a shaky breath, opening and reading it immediately.

_My Dearest,_

_I will be succinct: my charge has run afoul of a courtesan of your acquaintance. _

_Yesterday, during a period in time when you and I were otherwise engaged, the young man in question was forced by overdosed potion and dark spell by a former lover to engage in a manner that was wholly not characteristic of his true temperament, and which I dare not divulge on paper, lest this note fall into the wrong hands. Suffice to say, your own charge was witness to the vile display between my ward and this wench, and I fear she now believes the worst of him, hence her request of you this morning._

_I ask with all humility that you do not, under any circumstances, allow the negative repercussions of yesterday's events to touch my man's ability to participate this weekend in his destiny. I realize this request puts you at odds with your duties, and in your loyalty to your own charge, but I make it anyway, and offer you whatever reprisal you require of me in the future in exchange. I believe wholly that my protégé loves your witch with the same depth and temperament as I love you, and that he has been the victim of a wicked wrong by a bitter and vengeance-seeking rejected paramour, and should not be made to suffer for it._

_Please send a reply correspondence by the same owl with your answer as soon as you receive this note. I will remain at my station, fighting for my ward's life this very night._

_All my faith,_

_Your Loving Servant _

_Post-script: My charge's grandsire is currently tracking down the courtesan in question. I would advise you to aid him in the request, should your House Master call upon you to provide details. He is not a man to be thwarted or trifled with. Show him this note, if you feel the need. Be careful, my love._

Aurora immediately prepared a reply letter, explaining to her lover that she would continue to stall on sending him the rejection notice until she was given the opportunity to speak with her virgin ward regarding the truth of the matter. She believed that once The Princess was made to hear the details of this nefarious plot, the woman would change her opinion, and regret dropping _Monsieur_ Dragon from the lists. She would go to speak with her on the morrow regarding what had been revealed, as she knew the girl had been strongly doped to calm a hysteric panic attack earlier that day (she had been the one _Le Renard Rouge_ had come to for the draught, after all), and would not awaken until then.

In the meantime, she further explained that Aster had abandoned the House earlier that morning without notice, and that she had already contacted the girl's relatives by owl to locate her, as there was the issue of an outstanding bill for the rental of her apartments at the establishment. However, a return note had arrived not an hour earlier from her parents stating that they had no knowledge of the woman's whereabouts. Aurora believed Aster may have run off with one of the other clients, and assured her fiancé that she would investigate the matter personally.

Sending the note back to Severus in the talons of his owl, she turned to the vanity to refresh her hair, perfume and face paint, assuming at some point during the evening, she would receive as visitor the Owner of _La Cerise_, as her lover had forewarned.

Not ten minutes later, there came a knock upon her door, and The Keeper – Ronald Weasley – showed Abraxas Malfoy into her sitting room. The man wore his mask and cloak and gloves to hide his identity, and Aurora felt the need to simply lay all her cards out on the table to this man, having recalled her discussions with Sev regarding his former Master's past history and deciding it best not to tangle wits with a former Death Eater.

Passing Severus' note to Abraxas, she waited in silence on the sofa across from him, hands folded in her lap, ankles crossed properly, her eyes cognizant of every movement, the smooth wood of her wand rolling under her palms.

Abraxas finished the note, and with a sigh, removed his hood and mask, and for the first time in ten years, she looked upon the face of the House Master. "My Lord," she intoned politely, giving a well-mannered bow of her neck, in proper deference to his position and title. "It is an honor."

He returned the gesture with smooth grace, despite his years and the silver in his beard. "My Lady. The honor is mine." He held up the letter. "Shall we dispense with the pleasantries for now and skip to the part where I ask you to tell me the identity of this Aster and her current whereabouts?"

Aurora looked at him carefully, measuring him up. She considered herself an excellent judge of character overall, and in that moment, she felt his power practically rolling off his skin, and knew Abraxas Malfoy was not, as Severus had rightly indicated, a man to be denied. Despite that, she had her own established morals upon which her conscience rested, and thus was compelled to act accordingly. "May I make a request first, sir?"

A cool, silver-black eyebrow rose at her impertinence. "Out of respect for the number of years of our acquaintance, Aurora, I will allow it… _this time_."

There was no mistaking his barely-constrained irritation. "I ask that you do not harm the girl," she appealed. "No matter how deserving you may judge her to be."

Her overseer looked particularly intrigued by the petition. "You assume I am a man of violence. I am wounded by the accusation, my Lady." His dark smirk and flat, serpentine eyes told a different story, however. "_Hypothetically speaking_, may I ask why you would make such a request?"

Aurora's job as House Mother had many overlapping, delicate layers, and maintaining the secrets of the women who came here for succor or employment was one of those more uncomfortable, sensitive duties. However, in this case, it was clear that if she did not make a convincing enough argument, Abraxas Malfoy would simply make Astoria Greengrass 'disappear,' and that was one thing she could not abide.

Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes. "The girl and her sister both were raised in intolerable circumstances. Their father was a man of despicable fetishes who had no compunction abusing young girls… especially in his bedroom, if you take my meaning. Their mother had been the typical pureblooded wife, accepting her fate and pretending to see nothing, and for that amoral custom, her daughters were continually victimized by their own father." Peeking at him through her lashes, she tried to gauge his reaction to the news; there was none. He remained impassive, listening intently. "After graduation, Miss Aster came here to escape her father's clutches. The man twice attempted to see her, however, first demanding right of parentage to access her alone, and the second time, pretending to be a client. Consequently, I intentionally encouraged her attachment to your grandson, in the hopes that the man would remove her permanently from her own father's obsession." She sighed. "She hung all of her hopes on becoming _Monsieur_ Draco's bride – hopes which I dashed by introducing him to our Princess. Between her heartbreaking disappointment, her past history and the sadistic games she has learned to play behind these walls over the last nine months… I fear she has embraced a darker path."

"And you feel responsible for her choices," her Master concluded, folding his neatly manicured hands over his belly.

Aurora nodded once. "To a small extent. I am _Madame _here. I should have shown her extra care, but I feared coddling her. I wished her to grow stronger on her own, to overcome her past abuses, and to evolve into a worthy woman. Instead, she has become petty and vindictive, a common whore, unworthy of the beauty of _La Cerise_. I have failed her."

Abraxas stared at her for a long while in silence. "Her name, possible locations and known associates," he finally insisted with a tight clipped tone.

With a sigh, Aurora gave him the information he requested, feeling somewhat vindicated in having tried to save the woman from her own folly. Aster's fate was now hers to make.

Armed with the knowledge he had come for, Lord Malfoy stood to leave, his commanding presence taking up all of the air in the room. To her surprise, however, he did a curious thing then: he paused, staring silently down in thought at the beautifully crafted silver mask in his hands in thought, turning it over and over, before exploring a singular view aloud. "Are pureblooded wives really forced to behave in such a manner?" he finally asked, his tone strangely soft.

Deep inside her heart, Aurora understood that he was now wondering of his own marriage, for the Malfoys were amongst the most pure of wizarding families, and she was sure his wife had been no exception to the rule. "My Lord, I mean no disrespect, but there are exhaustively burdensome constraints of propriety placed upon pureblood wives – especially those amongst the peerage. Prearranged marriages, suffering mistresses in their husbands' beds, behaving and dressing appropriately in public, required social obligations, and an expected unswerving loyalty to their family are all such examples of the class. Sadly, most never truly live the life they want, nor are they loved by their spouses. They are merely prettily dressed dolls, whose opinions and intelligence are discarded in favor of producing heirs." She removed her own mask finally, allowing the man to see her face for the first time clearly, unafraid of the revealing. "It is why I will not marry into such an order. I have not many years left to enjoy this life, as my time on this earth is already half over, but I intend on doing so with a good man at my side – one whom I can love and laugh with." Daring to meet his weighty stare, she boldly took hold of her courage and launched a final appeal to the cause that had practically consumed her thoughts over the last week. "I pray you will allow my Princess and your grandson such an opportunity this Saturday. The love they bear for each other is, in my opinion, unparalleled, regardless of her familial wizarding status. I am of the firmly-held belief that their love is, in fact, illuminated by Providence."

The elder, distinguished man turned his face aside, appearing unimpressed, but it was clear from the shifting of his shoulders that her words had certainly affected him. He strode to the door, paused to replace his mask, and then stopped once again with his hand on the brass knob. "I had decided before coming here to revoke my edict to you regarding my grandson's participation in the auction," he admitted, looking over his shoulder at her, his voice somewhat muffled by the silver mask. "See that his participation is resumed for Saturday, regardless of whether or not your virgin charge still wants him further after this," he waved a hand about, "…debacle. I offer him this chance to find, as you so aptly put it, a mate to 'love and laugh with,' for all the good such fickle fancies provide."

Aurora felt the tears of relief prickle her eyes. "Thank you, my Lord. Thank your graciousness!"

Lifting the mask slightly off his face, Abraxas smirked knowingly at her. "I must admit that I have discovered that you and your 'good man' fiancé are quite a convincing duo, and I find I shall… miss… such a formidable figure in you, Aurora, when you take your leave from this House after your marriage. My own godson is most fortunate to have snatched you up finally." His grin widened. "If anyone can keep Severus in his place, it is you, I am quite positive."

With that, he dropped the mask and took his leave of her, politely closing the door behind him.

Slumping down onto the couch and lolling her head back on the cushions, Aurora allowed herself a moment of happy respite before her circumspect nature gave way to momentary nervousness at how slick and frighteningly informed her Master truly was.

**X~~~~~X**

**_Theodore Nott's townhouse - London, England_**

**_June 29, 1815 (Thursday night)_**

Astoria lounged back in Theo's arms, spooning, relishing the afterglow of their hour-long interlude. He was stroking through her long hair absently, his left hand pressed to her abdomen almost protectively. She did not make the mistake, however, of giving hope to the belief that it was any sort of emotion connected to real love that made him behave in such a manner, regardless of his words the day before. He had a vested interest in her and the babe she was possibly carrying under her breast, and that was the extent of his affections most likely. That the sex between them was exceptional was a bonus they both enjoyed.

Although, she would admit that this last time, as he'd released into her and touched her belly at the same moment, his sky-blue eyes appeared rather green-tinted.

"It takes three days, and then we can cast the spell to determine conception," she commented, rubbing her hand over his. "By Saturday late afternoon, we'll know whether I'm pregnant or not." She looked over her shoulder slightly. "If it proves positive, should we wait until Sunday to destroy Draco? It would be amusing to ruin his day of rest!"

Theo said nothing for a bit, but she'd felt his body tense as soon as she'd mentioned his half-brother's name. "We'll marry tomorrow."

It was a command, not a request, and she turned in his arms and sat up in surprise. "Will we, now?" she challenged, her eyebrow twitching with annoyance. She'd never had a marriage proposal, but that was certainly no way to deliver one, she knew.

Theo reached up and cupped her left breast, kneading, his eyes glittering with renewing lust. "We will, at the Ministry in the General Registration Office." He brushed his thumb over her nipple enticingly. "You will bear _my_ name before you give _him _any news of his impending fatherhood."

Once again, jealousy flashed through his features and simmered in his tone, and Astoria relished being so coveted, regardless of the reason. "And what if I don't care for the manner in which you have tendered for my hand, lover mine?" she asked mockingly, feeling the stirrings of desire between her legs once more. "That was a most unromantic offer, and decidedly unflattering."

In a blink, she was flipped onto her back, and Theo's lips were covering the breast he'd been toying with moments before. He suckled like a babe at first, but then began to nibble. With increasingly harder pressure, he left his teeth mark about her areola, and all the while, dancing fingers nimbly made their way between her legs, finding her more than ready.

Gripping his renewed erection, he entered her slowly. "You are _my_ courtesan," he whispered in her ear, coming back up and over her, resting his lips against her throat. "I will never let you go, Toria."

For some reason, Astoria's heart beat faster at his words. Gripping her _amoureux _tighter, locking her legs about his waist, they thrust away against each other with increasing fervency. "Ask me," she mewled against his lips as he turned to capture her mouth. "Ask me proper, Theo."

Slowing his rhythm, he leaned up on his elbows and looked down into her face, his eyes enigmatic as he captured her gaze. "Be my wife."

It wasn't a question, per se, but there was definitely the air about it of uncertainty now.

"Why?" she asked, pressing for some unfathomable reason, knowing she was pushing the limits of both of their comfort, but compelled by some nameless emotion welling in her throat to know his reasons.

He paused, measured her carefully, and then smirked at her. "Because I like fucking you." He punctuated the words with a forceful surging of his hips. "And I want to keeping doing it."

Her fingertips found his cheek and she slapped him with a gentle rebuke for his bantering repartee. He captured the hand quickly and placed a kiss into the palm, closing his eyes as he did so. When he glanced at her again, all teasing was set aside, and there, in his gaze, was revealed the real reason. He would probably not say the words to her aloud – maybe ever – but the emotion was present, in the set of his countenance, in his lightly panting breath stealing across her cheek, and in the tender caress of his lips traveling over the sensitive skin of her wrist.

Slipping her fingers into his hair, she pulled him down and kissed him with blatant need. "I'll be yours," she surrendered with a gasp of delight as he increased the tempo to the speed she enjoyed. "But you'll be _mine_, Theo. All mine, for always, too."

He chuckled in dark amusement at her invidiousness and began ramming his pelvis into her with hungry strength, claiming her indelibly. "Possessive wench."

They made love all the rest of the night until they exhausted themselves.

* * *

**_TO BE CONTINUED…_**

**_

* * *

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**AUTHOR'S NOTES:**

**Method To The Madness = The title of this chapter derives from the following: "Though this be madness, yet there is method in 't." - _Hamlet (Act II, Scene II)._**** The idea is that this chapter is filled with so much crazy back and forth (i.e. trying to unravel plots, while creating new ones), and yet despite the confusion, there is reason to it all... as you will see in subsequent chapters.**

**Bitch = In Victorian/Regency Era slang, this is the most offensive appellation that can be given to an English woman, even more provoking than that of whore, as may be gathered from the regular Billinsgate or St. Giles's answer: "I may be a whore, but can't be a bitch."**

**Bob tail = Victorian and Regency Era slang for "a lewd woman who plays with her 'tail'/anal opening."**

**"I hope you catch the pox." = 'Pox' is the slang term for the venereal disease, Syphilis. It was considered a _horrible_ thing to curse a person with during the Regency and Victorian Eras (people would cross themselves in the Christian manner to superstitiously ward off such a curse, because this disease was so feared because there was, during the time, no cure for it and it was highly contagious). The disease is characterized in the first stage with the emergence of a sore upon the genitals, followed in the second stage by a copper-colored rash upon the body, a sore throat, grayish patches appearing inside the mouth and on the tongue, the victim's hair falls out, and sometimes there is inflammation of the eyes. The third stage is the ending stage, in which sores and ulcers appear on the body in various places, and internal organs begin to shut down and die off, and the central nervous system is particularly susceptible (causing many untreated victims to suffer shakes, go paralyzed, or suffer other crippling or disabling and disfiguring injuries, as well as eventual madness). Death always follows as the body shuts down slowly, painfully over time. Children born with the disease have extensive internal organ failures and rarely survive past the age of five (and if they manage to make it into adulthood, many of them look puny, delicate and poorly nourished their whole lives). This disease, along with Consumption (Tuberculosis) were never wished upon anyone but the worst of enemies during this period in history.**

**The Devil's Cape = There was a 14th century superstitious belief that the Devil walked about in a costume (a black cape and a red mask, playing a golden fiddle) as he strolled through towns ravaged by plague. The symbolism of the costume is meant to reflect the three differing types of plagues recognized at the time: the black cape was for the Bubonic Plague [a bacterial infection of the lymphatic system; transmitted through touching infected blood, sweat, semen or saliva or being bitten/scratched by infected insects and animals; eventually causes the deterioration of the lymph nodes and the necrosis of tissue, and is manifested by large, pus-filled bubos on the victim's body], the red mask was for the Septicemic Plague [a 'cousin' bacterial plague to Bubonic Plague that is an infection of the circulatory system; causes rashes all over the skin, severe blood clots, and vomiting – often so bad, that the victim's face was covered in blood, and looked as if they were wearing a red mask; transmitted through touching infected blood, sweat, semen or saliva or being bitten/scratched by infected insects and animals], and the golden fiddle for the Pneumonic Plague [another 'cousin' bacterial plague of Bubonic and Septicemic Plagues that is an infection of the respiratory system; causes lungs to flood with blood; transmitted via coughing on air particles primarily, although it can also be vectored through touching infected blood, sweat, semen or saliva or being bitten/scratched by infected insects and animals]. These three forms of plague are believed to have caused the Black Death throughout Europe, Asia, the Middle East and Northern Africa during the mid-1300's, killing off approximately 75 million people in a three year period. In this fic, I use the symbol of the black cape to represent how formidable Abraxas Malfoy is (powerful like the Devil and Death himself).**


	10. Ch 9: Revelations

**_CHAPTER NINE: REVELATIONS_******

**_Diagon Alley - London, England_**

**_June 30, 1815 (Friday early morning)_**

The drug-induced morpheus Hermione had enjoyed hadn't done much to abate her tears upon waking. Instead, they remained as endless as the abysmal maw that had opened up inside her heart, coursing down her cheeks in hot, tormenting trails the moment her mind turned to her Dragon, and the mess that their relationship had become in so short a time.

Is this what loving reduced one to – a mass of emotional emptiness in the end, alone and bitter? If so, perhaps it was best to never love again.

Turning her head, she found the spot empty where Ginny had lain next to her in sisterly solidarity all night, the indent from the young woman's head upon the pillow still warm under her hand; her friend must have recently left. Using her senses, Hermione did not hear anyone else in her apartment, and assumed she had been temporarily deserted. Perhaps Ginevra had needed to return to her own rooms for personal reasons? She secretly hoped her friend would come back soon, for she found herself in much need of companionable strength just then.

Wearily, she closed her eyes, wiping at the streaks upon her face, attempting to brush them away.

What entitlement was there for romantic love in her situation anyway? Hers was a business affair; she was to become a man's paid whore for one night and there was no room for feeling in such a transaction. For that reason, she would have to learn how to shut away her emotions. If she could not endure this Saturday's auction winner's attentions, surely she would go mad.

The thought of what was to come in only two days' time made her positively ill… One of her remaining suitors was going to have her; he would strip her clothes from her body, making her utterly vulnerable, touch every part of her as he wished, and when he was ready, he would hold her down and come into her, capturing her virginity for his own. Would it be Knot, Jer, Gold or Wolf? From the cut of their clothing, all four gentlemen appeared the wealthiest of her patrons, and the ones most likely to be able to afford a bid-off, if that should be the run of the auction. On the other hand, perhaps instead the richest of them would prove to be Vivi or Bootsey, Argonaut or Scots, as within the walls of _La Cerise_, she was fast learning that nothing was as it seemed, and any of them could prove to be serious contenders.

Regardless of the face, it was very likely there would be more than one sexual interlude throughout that afternoon and night with the winner, for her temporary Master would own her until the dawn on Sunday. She would have to bear being touched again and again, perhaps even roughly. And she would have absolutely no choice but to give that man everything, to respond to his handling in a positive, appreciative manner. It would all be an elaborate sham of course, as there would be no real desire on her part, for none of the remaining bidders would be the man she _really_ pined for deep in her soul. Yet, despite that unhappy certainty, she would nevertheless attempt with her all her skill to counterfeit the moans and expressions she had studied on the faces of those she'd watched behind the mirrors during her education, and pray she could adequately pass off the charade as the bona fide deal.

The following morning would be unquestionably awkward, as she and her lover would separately dress and then part ways, quite possibly forever, and then she would collect her belongings and return to her family's home in Surrey… and would repeatedly tell her heart to pretend that none of it had ever happened thereafter. Except for Ginny, of course, with whom she would wish to maintain a relationship, and Pyg, her beloved familiar, whom she would never abandon, no matter his past connection to the man she loved.

Just the thought of _him_ again summoned an unbearable agony in Hermione's chest.

She'd wanted her first time to belong to her Dragon; she'd _prayed_ for that forbidden conclusion, despite all prohibition to such a hope. In spite of the events of Wednesday afternoon, she _still_ yearned for such a thing to transpire. How could she still want him after what she'd seen him do? How could she still love him?

"He loves you, too."

Sitting up with a gasp, she pulled the bed covers over herself modestly and glanced around quickly. There wasn't another soul in sight. Her bedroom was still, aside from her presence to disturb the peace. Had she finally reached the heights of being distraught and cracked, then? Had the pressure become too much for her to handle, and now she was hearing voices?

"No, you're not mad."

With a 'pop,' a tiny ball of white fluff appeared on the bottom edge of her bed.

"Pyg?"

There was a strange shimmering of light, and in the place of her beloved familiar sat a young boy, approximately six or seven years of age. His hair was the same color as hers, but short and straight. His eyes were a wintery blue-grey. A light sprinkling of freckles dotted the bridge of his nose, exactly as hers had at that age.

"Hello," he smiled a little nervously. "This is better, don't you think?"

Astounded into speechlessness, Hermione could do no more than gape at the child, her brain fuzzing around the edges.

"I've been practicing," he boasted, looking down at himself. "Mostly when you weren't around." He wiggled his ten perfect fingers and kicked his legs straight. "The clothes took some human thinking, but I like them." He dropped his legs back down and looked at her as innocently as an angel, and as devilishly excitedly as she knew him to be at times. "I picked a face that looks like both of you." He grinned brightly. "What do you think, Mama?"

Too much… It was all too much…

Darkness crawled into the sides of Hermione's vision until they enveloped her totally, and she promptly fainted.

**X~~~~~X**

Vapors were pressed under her nostrils, jolting her awake with that same, startling panic that she'd woken up with this morning. Jerking away from the acrid stench, she instinctually attempted to move immediately. A gentle hand on her shoulder pressed back, forcing her into the mattress.

"Lie still, silly," Ginny admonished, her red hair and pale face coming into focus finally above her. "You fainted."

"Pyg?" she murmured in need, blinking back tears. "Where is Pyg?"

A small hand grasped hers, and at the touch, soothing magic flowed gently into her. Instantly, she was eased. "I'm here, Mama." His sweet child's adopted countenance came into view, and he was clearly afraid and concerned. "Do I scare you like this? I can… go back… if you want." He seemed decidedly disappointed with the option, but the offer had been made with all sincerity.

Gently, she stroked the tiny fingers that clutched hers with anxiety. He was warm, and his flesh felt as real as Ginevra's as she took her friend's hand as well. Was this really her little familiar in human form? How had he accomplished such a feat? "You _are _a true metamorph, aren't you?" she whispered to him, smiling with amazement.

He stepped closer and lifted her hand to his cheek, rubbing against it, seeking her affection. "Is it all right? I like it much better, but I don't want you to be frightened of me."

Hermione squinted as she pondered the anomalous situation seriously. "No, I am not frightened, Pyg. This is just an adjustment. I am used to seeing you as, well, a small ball of fluff." Her fingers lightly caressed his baby-soft skin. "And I admit that I am confused by how you could accomplish such an advanced feat of magic."

The boy – Pyg, she reminded herself firmly – looked around at the walls. "At Papa's house, I could only change my color, but when he brought me here for you, I felt… different, especially after you touched me the first time. The magic here made me… better." He shrugged, clearly unable to articulate the process of his exponential magical abilities. "I wanted to know what it would be like to walk like Papa, and…" He frowned in concentration. "I just… changed." He held his hand up and stared at the open palm, pressing it into hers, comparing the size difference. "It took a lot of practice to get it right, though. I had to pretend to like sitting outside for a long time by myself, so you wouldn't see. Some days, it was really hot in the sun! And I'd try it when you were asleep, too. You never noticed." Looking up at her, he smiled so angelically that it was hard not to become enamored of his beatific presence. "I wanted to be perfect before I showed you for the first time, Mama."

Hermione's heart melted. "Well, you certainly look very handsome," she smiled, but immediately her expression fell as she fully considered the implications of his words. "Did you state that coming here, to this House, altered your magic?" At Pyg's nod, she turned her face away, biting her lip, assessing the possibilities. "Could the spell upon _La Cerise_ have somehow called to you, too?"

"You mean the one that enticed you here?" Ginevra asked, her tone slightly alarmed, and Hermione started as she had forgotten all about her friend's presence in light of Pyg's amazing revelation. Ginny's eyes grew as wide as saucers. "It occurs to me only now… do you suppose it is possible that the spell works for every woman here as well?" Her friend was blushing crimson, her light freckles highlighted across the bridge of her nose as a result. "I mean, it seems that men come to _La Cerise_ seeking wives, not just courtesan companionship. And all of us have a story of need compelling us to seek out the training here. As far as I'm aware, no woman has ever left these walls without a marriage proposal or beau on her arm." She glanced down at the ring on her left hand. "I pray I will not be the first."

Hermione sat up fully, giving herself a moment to calm the dizziness, and gathered the blanket to her chest, letting her friend's hand go. "What do you mean?"

Ginevra sadly turned her head aside. "After Wednesday's events, I explained to my Italian that I wouldn't marry a man who counted such scoundrel company amongst his friends. Despite his encouraging letter yesterday, I haven't yet heard from him, and I can't help but wonder if he's… well, if he's _reconsidering_ his offer." She looked at the ring again, her body posture and face reflecting a deep wounding. "I'd said some rather cruel things to him, and perhaps he feels it better not to involve himself with a woman of such temper."

Shaking her head firmly, Hermione let Pyg go and grabbed a hold of Ginny's left hand with both of hers. "He loves you! I have seen the proof with my own eyes. This absolutely cannot stand, Ginny! You must not make this mistake! You love him, and he you, and if what you suppose is true about the House's ancient spells, then you were meant for each other as well, both drawn here to find and love the other. Do not allow my suffering to dictate your future happiness. I forbid it, in fact!" Her voice had grown in strength as she spoke, bordering on commanding by the time she'd finished. "You will take back your rejection immediately! Do not allow anything to destroy this opportunity for you."

"Or you, Mama," Pyg smiled, resting his hands on the coverlet and leaning forward onto the balls of his feet. "Papa loves you just as much. It wasn't his fault what happened."

Hermione's whole soul froze, and her gaze locked with foolish, wild hope onto the words of her little familiar. "What do you mean?"

Her… familiar… hopped up onto the bed, sitting on his knees, keeping his shoes over the edge in a strangely polite manner. "I stayed behind. I was hiding in the corner, because that man with the _Madame's _face was still there, and I was afraid of him. I listened and watched what he and the white-haired lady did to Papa." He growled angrily. "They hurt him with their magic sticks after you left."

"Man with the _Madame's_ face?" she asked, confused. "Do you mean there was a man pretending to be Madam Sinistra?"

Pyg nodded. "He bubbled and changed back to himself a little after you left."

"Polyjuice Potion!" Ginevra gasped.

Bubbling skin… that was definitely the effect when a Polyjuiced individual reverted back to their rightful form. "Pyg, did you recognize the man?"

He blinked. "He smelled like one of the men who came to see you sometimes, but he wasn't wearing a mask, so I don't know which one."

"A suitor?" she breathed in surprise. "One of the suitors conspired against me?"

He nodded again. "I think that's what you called them." Bunching his fists, he growled again. "I followed them yesterday to the man's home. They were talking about giving Papa drinks that made him act like a beast that day, and the white-haired lady laughed and said she wished she'd seen you cry. I was so angry, Mama!"

She reached up and gently ruffled her fingernails through his short, auburn-brown hair, not wanting to dwell on such maliciousness, needing to get to the bottom of this story. "Did they say what kind of drinks they gave Mr. Dragon, _bébé_?"

Pyg's anger melted away, to be replaced by a beaming smile. "Heh,_ bébé_. I like that. It's what _Madame_ called me, too, the night you and Papa kissed in the rose bushes. She said, 'Your Mama and Papa are in love, _bébé._ This will be my last match.' She _is_ clever, isn't she?"

Hermione's eyes filled with tears again, only these were tears of poignant tenderness. "Yes, she is. You _are_ my baby, Pyg. I love you."

Those beautiful grey eyes stared at her for a moment with unabashed hope and a powerful return love, began watering, and then he burst into tears and threw himself into her arms. "Mama!"

They held each other, crying in joy. Never had Hermione felt so complete as a woman than in that moment. Virgin she may be, but she was a mother to this little creature, regardless of his shape-shifted face or form. She loved Pyg, and would die to protect him, if necessary, as she would a son from her own womb.

Glancing up, she caught Ginny wiping away her own tears, smiling in understanding. "You were right: no spell can force love. When it's genuine, it shines."

Speaking of spells… Leaning back slightly, she looked into Pyg's cherubic face again, wiping his tears with a soothing, loving hand. "Tell me about these drinks that made _Monsieur_… your Papa… become like a beast."

"Well…" he hedged, sniffling, "I didn't see him drinking them. The man and woman only talked about them after. But I did taste an awful flavor on Papa's skin that day, when I followed the man to Papa's home. After he dropped Papa on his bed and left, and I could see Papa was sick and he was still asleep, so I licked his cheek to get him to wake up. He tasted… mif."

Ginevra unexpectedly barked a laugh, clearly trying to contain her shock behind a surprised hand over her lips. "Did you actually just say 'mif'? Where on earth did you learn such a horrid word as that?"

Pyg blinked in surprise. "The mean woman said it after kissing Papa goodbye on the mouth. She said he tasted mif and made a face like it was awful."

Hermione swallowed, the picture finally coming together. Her suitor had been set-up by Aster and another man, either a previous suitor or one still in the running. She now had her suspicions as to what the drinks – potions – were that her Dragon had consumed. "Did Papa's skin taste bitter, like rancid walnuts?"

Her gentle familiar blinked at the unfamiliar term. "What're those?"

She tried to think of a substitute, when it occurred to her that she need not bother; she had a perfect way of demonstrating the taste. Silently _Accio_-ing her wand to her hand from across the room, it came to her palm with a quick slap. Waving it, she summoned her rosewood box of chocolates from its hidden location within her armoire, and it floated across the room into her lap.

Immediately, Pyg sat on the bed on his knees and started bouncing up and down. His hair turned bright crimson. "Oh, oh, oh!" he excitedly flounced about.

If there had been even the tiniest doubt that this was Pyg before her then that reservation was now put solidly to rest. With a chuckle, she opened the box and found one of the bon-bons that was coated with crushed walnuts and flaked some of the nut onto her hand. With a wave of her wand, she aged them, and then presented them to Pyg. "Smell and taste this, and tell me if it is similar to what you sampled upon Papa's skin."

Her palm got no further than half a hand away before he wrinkled his nose and moved his head back. "Ewww… mif." He nodded and put a hand over his nose. "Yes, that's it, Mama. It's the same smell. I don't want to eat it. I already know what it tastes like and it's ucky."

Banishing the pieces with a wave of her wand, Hermione nodded and presented him with a full piece for his own delight in reward for his help (he gobbled it down quickly, that strange trilling-purring noise coming from his chest). "Thank you, _bébé."_

She now had an almost complete picture of Wednesday's events.

"He was forced to consume a lust potion."

Ginny nodded in agreement. "I've only used the concoction once myself - so that I'd have the courage to face my first client here in the House after I arrived - but the aftertaste is unforgettably foul: that of moldy walnuts. I've been lucky not to have to rely upon such a foul brew since." She shivered. "It's no wonder he acted as an animal during rutting season. It must have been a very potent draught, or perhaps a heavy dose for him to behave as you described."

Hermione agreed. "_Bébé_, when they used 'sticks' on The Drag… Papa… what words did they say?" she asked, her mind leaping to fill in the logic gaps.

Pyg scratched his head. "The man said something about 'fine it.' It was some long word I don't remember. And then the lady waved her stick over Papa and wished him sweet dreams. He fell to the ground after that and didn't wake up for a long time. That's when the man took Papa home."

Hermione traded a look with Ginny. "They left his memories intact? Why do that, if the intent was to simply cause me hurt? Surely, they would know he could go to the Hit Wizards and report them for their illegal activities."

Her redheaded friend concurred with a serious nod. "But perhaps you weren't their only intended victim in this charade, Hermione. Maybe Aster and her mysterious lover wished to ruin Dra… The Dragon as well." She pursed her lips and exhaled in frustration. "I know you don't wish to know about him, and that what I'm about to say will be quite painful for you to hear, but I suspect it's an important piece of this nefarious plot. You should know that the Dragon is an influential man of noble lineage. It's quite possible that Aster intended a child to be born from their… unholy… union, perhaps in the hopes of using the connection for material and financial gain. I wouldn't put it past her to stoop so low."

All of the blood drained from Hermione's face and suddenly, she felt quite faint once more.

Pyg gripped her hand and healing magic flooded through her where they were connected. "Mama?"

His strength flowed through her, calming the panic attack that had threatened to overwhelm her. Taking a deep, cleansing breath, she exhaled and relaxed. "Thank you, sweetness," she smiled with gratitude. "Mama will be fine now, because of you." She patted his hand in reassurance, and sighed.

The truth was, at last, before her.

"My Dragon was a dupe to Aster and her lover," she recognized aloud and relief bloomed in her chest, but there was no time for tears just now, as she followed the thought through to conclusion. "They schemed in advance to destroy us both. But why? I have given no offense to Aster, as far as I am aware."

Ginevra shook her head. "You captured the attention of The Dragon away from her. It is no secret that the witch was quite enamored of his wealth."

Hermione rubbed her fatigued eyes. "And her accomplice, a suitor – perhaps I cut the man from the list, and he was seeking revenge against me?"

"Perchance," Ginny granted. "Or maybe the man's personal quarrel was with _Monsieur_ Dragon."

Swallowing back a sob, Hermione shook her head. "Even armed with such knowledge, the damage has been done. I cannot take back the rejection of his bidding status. He is lost to me!"

"We shall see about that," her female friend declared, standing to her feet beside the bed. "I will speak with the Madam immediately. Wait here for my return." With that, the redheaded firebrand exited the room, firm of purpose and step.

Pyg gripped her hand again, his face worried. "Mama, Papa was so sick. Can I go see him?"

Tenderly, she reached up and ran her fingers through his downy hair. "Do you truly love him, Pyg?"

He nodded without reservation. "Yes, Mama."

A stitch cut her heart. "Then go to him. But _bébé, _you need to understand that Papa might not want to see Mama ever again. If not, you will have to decide where your heart truly lies. Do you understand?"

Pyg gave her a charmingly dubious expression. "Mama, Papa will love you forever." With that, he was gone with a small, staccato 'pop,' the air swirling to fill in the empty space that he previously occupied.

Such faith… Why could she not share such a beautiful thing?

Lying back in bed once more, she closed her eyes and tried to hold onto something good, a memory that would allow her to get through the next two days. Behind her eyelids, it was dark, but the recollection of a low, masculine voice reached out from the void to weave around her heart once more…

_"Je t'aime, ma Princesse. Pour tout l'éternité, je vous aimerai."_

"No matter what Saturday brings, I will love you for all eternity as well, my silver-eyed Dragon," she whispered, her hand resting lightly over her breast, a prayer for providential aid escaping to Heaven.

**X~~~~~X**

**_Malfoy Manor - Wiltshire, England_**

**_June 30, 1815 (Friday early morning – minutes later)_**

Severus nearly toppled over in the chair in which he was leaning back as the odd child appeared with a suctioning 'pop' of air and sound in the middle of Draco's bedroom. The boy was of average height for a human of approximately six or seven years of age, and he was dressed in regally cut brown velvet trousers, a stylish white linen shirt, blue tights, polished black shoes, and a dove-gray velvet button-up jacket. His auburn-brown hair was cut short, as was the current fashion for boys, and his gray eyes matched his coat.

"Papa!" he cried, and hopped onto the bed, throwing himself at Draco's arm. "What's wrong with Papa?" he demanded of the medi-witch, who was currently administering another dose of tea as Mr. Zabini held his friend upright.

Everyone in the room literally stopped breathing at once – even Severus' godson, who was looking askance at the young boy. "Who… the bloody hell are you?" he croaked, his voice having gone raw from all of the vomiting.

The boy blinked, clearly taken aback. "Papa, it's me, your Pyg." With an odd shimmering of light – performed without wand, Severus noted – the boy morphed into a ball of white fluff and rolled about on the coverlet for a bit, changing his fur a myriad of colors before he shape-shifted back into the body of a child. "See? It's a trick I learned when Mama wasn't looking."

"Holy mother of Merlin!" the medi-witch proclaimed, jumping up, her hand shaking so powerfully that she sloshed most of the contents of the china cup into her lap and onto the bed covers. "It's a magical Puffskein!"

Smiling, the boy stuck his thumb to his chest and puffed up a bit. "Mama says I'm a true metamorph."

It was so quiet you could allegorically hear a pin drop onto the plush carpet.

"Mama?" Draco hesitantly asked. "My Princess?" Severus' godson seemed to hold his breath in anticipation of the little creature's answer, his eyes glowing with hope. "Did she send you?"

The boy – Pyg, he'd said his name was – nodded enthusiastically. "She said I could come to you. You call her 'my lovely' though, don't you, Papa? I like that name for her better. She is _very_ lovely without that black covering on her face."

"Draco, who is this?" Severus finally found his composure. To see a child – no, a creature; a Puffskein no less – perform magic so effortlessly had been a bit disconcerting to say the least.

Weakly, his charge looked over at him. "A gift. For my Princess." He shook his head, clearly fighting off another slip into unconsciousness. "P…Pyg…"

Sliding back into the darkness, his head lolled. Severus moved quickly. "Sit him up higher," he commanded, and Zabini shifted, using his arm strength to force Draco into a position where he could not lean backwards. "Witch, we need that potion down his throat, now."

The medi-witch quickly moved to refill the half-emptied cup from the teapot on the table nearby.

The boy grabbed for the blond's hand. "Papa? Don't sleep again," he bid, and Severus felt the shimmer of magic tremble through the air, centered on where those little fingers gripped their Master's much bigger palm.

To everyone's surprise, Draco took a deep breath, his eyes fluttering and opening. Within seconds, he was pushing himself away from Zabini, sitting up on his own. Color returned to his too-pale cheeks, and the wizard's eyes cleared of pain and delirium. He looked down at the creature holding onto him for dear life. "You did that," he spoke with awe. "I feel healthier. How?"

This Pyg looked at his own hands, wriggling them, confusion clearly marring the angelic features. "I'm… not sure. I just… wanted you better, Papa. It just… happened. Like with Mama, earlier."

Draco's entire body tensed and he gripped the small shoulders of the child. "The Princess is sick?"

Expressive, cinereous-gray eyes tightened with sorrow. "Mama's so sad, Papa. She saw you that day. We both did. She's been crying. It's made her sick." His face became resolute in a moment. "But I told her the truth. I told her about the white-haired lady and the man who hurt you. She's not angry anymore, just sad. She says you are 'lost' to her because she… ah… what were the words? She said, 'I cannot take back the rejection of his bidding status.' She thinks you won't want to see her anymore now."

Draco drew in a hissing breath. "She rejected me?"

Severus put his hand on his godson's shoulder. "Rest easy. I have assured the House Madam has not acted on the request, and from Aurora's latest note, it seems your grandfather has further commanded her to ignore The Princess' rejection in any case. Your status is secure for tomorrow's auction."

"My grandfather?" Draco seemed quite confused by this turn of events. "Why would he care to interfere on my behalf?"

Ah, yes, so much had happened over the last few days, there had been no time to play catch-up with his ward. Severus spent the next half-hour explaining the situation in detail to him, including his singular discussion with his former Potions Master, Abraxas' visit yesterday to the Manor House and the deal struck between the two, and the elder Malfoy's appointment with Aurora Sinistra regarding the identity of Aster. In the middle of it, Zabini got up and stretched his legs out, having been cramped in his seated position behind his friend for several hours without respite. The nurse sat quietly in a vacant chair, tea on reserve, just in case it was needed again.

"I knew my family had acquired all of its brides for centuries from _La Cerise_, but you're saying that we are in possession of the House's title as well?" he asked incredulously. "Why was I never told?"

Severus sniffed and waved a hand dismissively. "As the ownership of _La Cerise's_ property title is the senior Malfoy male's inheritance, it stands as Abraxas' right to manage or dispense with his property as he sees fit. Legally, the man is under no obligation to disclose the nature of his private assets to you, boy. Should he not sell the House before his death, however, it will _then_ become your responsibility as part of your grandfather's Last Will." He gave him a wry smirk. "Consider yourself now properly forewarned."

Draco was quiet, considering everything he had learned. Eventually, he turned to the shape-shifter at his side. "Pyg, can you attempt to heal me fully?" He looked over at Severus rather sharply. "I have a Formal Ball to attend tonight, and there is much to do between now and then to prepare for it."

Pyg gave an 'ooh' of excitement and hopped on his knees up and down animatedly. "You're going to kiss Mama again, aren't you?" the little thing happily anticipated.

Ruffling the boy's hair (it had become decidedly easy to consider the little Puffskein as human, Severus strangely noted), Draco smiled for the first time in days. "Yes, Pyg. I'm going to kiss your Mama again and again tonight… if she'll let me."

White teeth grinned assuredly back at him. "Oh, don't worry, Papa. She will. Trust me!"

**X~~~~~X**

**_Ministry of Magic _****_& Theodore Nott's Townhouse _****_- London, England_**

**_June 30, 1815 (Friday afternoon)_**

Astoria Genevieve Greengrass Nott walked out of the General Registration Office on the arm of her new husband, the white gold, diamond and aster-shaped amethyst wedding band a beautiful decoration for her hand. It was quite a stunning piece, and she wondered where the man had managed to find such a perfect ring on such short notice.

As soon as they Floo'd back to his townhouse, Theodore was on her, taking her against the wall in the entry hall, uncaring of the discomfort of the position, or of his house elf possibly spying. He spilled into her with a powerful surge in a very short amount of time, capturing her lips possessively. "You're mine, finally. _MINE._"

Withdrawing from her, holding his trousers in one hand, he pulled her up the stairs and back into his bedroom, where he proceeded to ride her hard for the next hour, all the while reiterating that she was now _his _wife, and bore _his_ name. Strangely, for her part, Astoria found herself agreeing, surrendering to his conquest of her body and - dare she even think it? - her heart.

_No!_ She had forsworn the idea of ever falling in love with a man. They were only to be used for pleasuring - as much as they used her. It was a lesson she'd learned well at the tender age of nine, when she'd first began sprouting breasts and her father had… No, she would not go to that place of horrible memory again. Suffice it to say, all men were beasts, as she and her sister, Daphne, had agreed as children in their shared misery. The opposite sex was built for rutting without care; it was a fool's dream to believe in something as ridiculously quixotic as a soul mate with such animals. The impetuous declaration she'd made that she could come to love him the other day – _pah!_ The idea itself had been brought on, no doubt, by the allure of the foolishly romantic act of being whisked away to this man's home in secret, and being pleasured continually since. Sex had a way of confusing a woman's heart.

Yes, surely, that _must_ be the reason…

"My Toria," Theo breathed in her ear in a sultry, low tone as he slowed his rhythm. "My beautiful, luscious wife. I knew you would be my match the moment I laid eyes on you years ago."

Everything within Astoria went cold as his words sunk through the haze of lust. "But… we formally met only last year, at my debut." Theodore hummed in agreement in her ear, even as he took the lobe between his teeth and suckled gently. "Why did you not sue for me then, if you felt such a connection?" she pressed, ignoring the crawling pleasure between her legs.

Reaching between them, her new husband twiddled her pink button expertly. "Come for me," he bid, using his skill in bed to divert her quite successfully. It only took a series of smaller thrusts and some stimulation to her pearl to bring Astoria over. With fervent driving into her quim, Theo followed her into bliss a moment or two later.

He did something uncharacteristic then; instead of pulling out of her immediately, he lay within her for several long heartbeats, holding her to his chest, his face pressed into her throat. Astoria remained impassive in his embrace, counting the seconds of this awkward moment.

The air practically hummed with his tension as he finally withdrew and lay back, staring up at the ceiling. "Are you hungry?"

It was an odd question, she thought. Clearly, her wizard was avoiding the topic, which only amplified her curiosity all the more. "Shall we finally partake of an actual meal in the dining room together then?" she ribbed, for since her arrival Thursday morning, they had only enjoyed tea and snacks, and those from this very room, upon the Moroccan settee or lying back in the sun-shaded window seat that overlooked the small garden in the back of his townhouse.

His head turned at the same moment his smirk lazily swept up his roguish cheek. "I might be inclined to do so… _if_ you are offering to play the role of the dessert topper on the table after."

This 'softer' side of her sham husband was completely unfamiliar; she was prepared for his violent sadism, for his malicious tongue, and for his dominating nature, but this teasing, gentler side was completely foreign and it prevented her from finding balance suddenly. "What game is this, Theo?" she inquired suspiciously, waspishly. "Do you think to play my affections as easily as you seem to play my body?" She sat up, shakily made her feet and reached for her clothing, needing to put space between them.

Her satin and whale-bone laced bodice was barely in hand when he gripped her wrist tight and pulled her away from her endeavor and back into his arms. Tumbling rather clumsily onto the bed together, Theo wrapped himself about her nude form and rolled so that she was under him once more. "Do you share affections for me then?" he asked, his face as unfathomable as if he still wore that damnable harlequin mask from the House, his awakening cock slipping between her thighs once more.

To her horror, Astoria's body began to unexpectedly quake. She focused on his lips, refusing to glance further up into his handsome face. "No," she scoffed, the effort half-hearted to her own ears. What was wrong with her?

Undaunted by so blunt and negative a response from her, her husband ran his lips along her cheek. "Liar," he whispered and smirked arrogantly, pressing kisses to her skin. "You are the Queen of Deceit, my pretty flower. It is one of the traits I so admired back in our school days together - most especially that night you vowed you had fallen for my charms. 'You have taken my heart,' you said. Even then, I knew it a lie – and I was captivated by you all the more for it." His mouth did enticing things to her flesh; he attempted to seduce her once more, even as she went still again, her mind sticking on his last words.

"The unclaimed dormitory room, my fifth year. The wizard who came to me in the dark," she whispered in growing trepidation, her heart tripling in speed of a sudden. "I remember you now."

Theodore chuckled, even as he lathed her throat. "A brief tussling taste of your Heaven upon that bared mattress, my sweet Slytherin Princess, but oh, how it has haunted me." His hands caressed her breast with tender care. "I watched you persistently in the afters, hoping for your recognition of that union, but it never came. Instead, I listened to the rumors and saw with my own eyes how easily you wielded the power of seductive lies over young men's hearts. Yet, I restrained my jealousy, knowing it could not last - that you would tire of such games soon enough." His tongue bathed her lips, following their curve, thrusting between the slit to open her to his kiss. "I patiently waited for you to mature, my Toria, to leave your home, presuming only one place you could run to; as the daughter of a pureblood who was virgin no longer, you had no choice if you wished for a good marriage but to re-earn your lost reputation, so I bided my time until you could arrive at _La Cerise_." He kissed her ardently, even as his fingertips caressed her breast.

Astoria was flabbergasted. "You've wanted me all these years?" she gasped, feeling her heart clench painfully. That one night... she had not been able to forget it either. It had been nearly pitch black, and she had never seen the face of her seducer, but the feel of his skilled hands and his branding lips and his deep, male groan of satisfaction as he'd expelled his seed into her had been unforgettable. She'd spent the remainder of her days at school looking for the young man who had seduced her so thoroughly that one time, but none she'd touched ever after was him. No other had his feel. That is, until Draco Malfoy had held her hand and introduced himself as _Monsieur_ Dragon. Now she understood why the strange attraction – no, _compulsion_ - she had felt to be near the blond wizard, to own him in every way had existed at all: because he and Theodore were brothers, and as such, their magical auras were very similar. "Then why not pursue me before now?"

His cerulean eyes stormed with sudden anger, and the pinch he bestowed upon her nipple grew painful. His thighs roughly parted hers with violent intent. "Because your interest strayed to _him_ almost immediately, did it not? And once more, my little half-brother took what belonged to me without thought to care for the consequence. He warmed your bed, entered your body repeatedly for months, while I had to endure seeing _my_ woman in my hated half-brother's arms. It is always a Malfoy who threatens and ruins me at every turn, even though _I _am firstborn heir. He and that meddling Madam, that is to say. It was _she_ who prevented my pursuit of you after the night of your formal bow at the House, once she realized my relation was fascinated by you. Conspiracy of fate has kept me from all that is rightly mine for too long!" His eyes narrowed with fury as he entered her vault hard with a powerful thrust of his hips. "But no more, Astoria. My cur of a sibling has finally released you, and you are _mine_ now in both name and in body, as you were always meant to be." His forehead touched hers and his blue eyes burned with the devil's fire. "Even if you carry his child, so that we may both enjoy our revenge and I may, at last, use the babe to obtain access to some of my rightful inheritance, I will _never_ give you to him again. _NEVER._"

With a sinking feeling of guilt and loss, Astoria let her new husband claim her once more, her mind an ocean's tsunami of confusion and hurt. He was brutal, dominating, and yet, under the desperate plundering, she felt his true feelings for her simmering. They existed in his nervous kiss, in the way he moaned her name against her ear, in the gripping of her left hand over her head as he entwined their fingers, their wedding bands touching as he released into her once again.

Closing her eyes, she tried to hold onto her resolve. She would not fall in love. She could not! She and Daphne had promised each other… _"Men are beasts,"_ she recited the poem in whispered despair, even as hot tears ran down her cheeks. _"And women, their treacherous jungle."_

"And you are the most deceitful of them all, my pretty flower," Theodore chuckled darkly, kissing her as he came into her one more time, seemingly relentless in his passion for her. "And yet, _this _animal will pluck you all the same."

**X~~~~~X**

**_Diagon Alley - London, England_**

**_June 30, 1815 (Friday afternoon – late afternoon-early evening)_**

Ginny had briefly returned earlier with news of her conversation with the Madame, before heading off to Angel's room to help the woman pack (apparently, there was scandal there that involved Ginevra's brother, Fred, but as to the extent, her friend was under a binding promise by Aurora not to divulge details):

_"She's confided that she's not yet acted upon your request! No letter of retraction of Monsieur Dragon's bidding has been sent. He's free to own you tomorrow!"_

The news should have been a welcome relief. However, to Hermione's mystification, the words intended to bring comfort instead fluttered equally with anxiety in her breast. After what she had seen her silver-eyed suitor do with _that woman_… Her stomach clenched, threatening to up her light luncheon all over the carpet. Her desire for her Dragon was all-consuming, and yet her repulsion at the memory of him thrusting away inside another woman - regardless of his victimization while under the influence of a lust compulsion - left her shaking and ill. She could never think of him in quite the same way now; their innocence had been stolen from them that afternoon.

"I had thought to find you 'alf-dressed already, _ma soeur_," a familiar, gentle voice floated from the doorway. "You always love za dance, _oui_?"

Hermione leapt to her feet in a burst of excitement. "Fleur!" she gasped in joy. In her doorway, her former House sister stood with an overnight, leather valise in hand. Placing it inside the entry and shutting the door behind her, she stepped forward into Hermione's enthusiastic embrace. "Oh, Fleur, I am _so happy_ to see you!"

She launched into her questions of her friend's health in French, but Fleur held up her hand in a request to halt. "No _Français_. I am to learn zee Engleesh better for my job," her friend explained. "As I can no go back to Paris because of zat man and heez revolution, I must make London my 'ome now."

"My earnest apologies," Hermione demurely granted. "Of course, we will speak as you wish. Come in, please, and sit for a while." She guided Fleur to the settee, and they perched themselves for respite. She called up Dobby for tea, and the house elf was gone and back in less than three minutes with a fresh pot of herbal and two china sets. Hermione served her guest and then their visit officially began. "How have you been, my sister? I have missed you dearly these past two years, since I last called upon you."

The two women then spent the next two hours playing catch-up. Fleur, she discovered, had been contacted by the Madam yesterday afternoon with the request to attend Hermione, to help bring some comfort to her during her time of sorrow. She would have to remember to thank her mistress for so kind a gesture later.

They then spoke of Fleur's establishment in a townhouse near Diagon Alley with her younger sister and mother (her father having been shot and killed in Napoleon's war when he'd accidentally apparated directly into the center of an encampment of the _Grande Armée_ years before), and her work at Gringotts for the demanding goblins – as well as her notice of one man in particular, who sometimes appeared in the office with his reports of his work in the field as a Curse Breaker on retainer (he had not, she believed, noticed her of yet, however, much to her chagrin, for Fleur was one-quarter Veela, and was not used to being ignored by the opposite sex).

Matters turned to Hermione's situation, and she divulged all of her secrets, trusting Fleur implicitly. By the time she had finished her tale – including admitting to having trepidation about seeing her Dragon tonight at the Soiree (if he appeared at all that was to say) – Fleur was beaming.

"Your fear is… how you say?... understandable. But, you love 'im, no? Think of that when you are in heez arms dancing tonight – for he will surely come. All else will fall away," she assured her, clasping her hands tightly between them. "You are zee _Belle de Nuit._" Fleur stood suddenly. "Show me your dress and jewels for zee night, and we will prepare you together."

Hermione summoned Dobby to retrieve the tea set, and to send for Ginevra, whom she intended upon introducing to her House sister. "Ginny has promised to help as well. I believe you will adore each other upon sight."

It was as she predicted. Their shared love of Hermione brought together the two friends, and soon, the three women were clucking about, getting ready for the night's activities. A string quartet for chamber music and a pianist (performing on a _Broadwood and Sons_!) had been hired to provide the night's entertainment, and the kitchen elves were in a frenzy preparing hot (rather than the generally accepted cold) '_amuse-bouche_' enticements for the midnight supper, according to Ginny (who heard it from Dobby).

As for the guest list… Women of the House who were already in exclusive contract with a client were allowed to attend the night's events – which included _Le Renard Rouge_, as her beau had made it clear he would not be dissuaded in any manner from his intentions where she was concerned, and would be in the crowd tonight to claim her upon his arm. Fleur, as Hermione's guest, would also attend, as would Harry, who would play her escort. The Madam also included her friends and past clients of the _La Cerise_, (along with their wives), to show off her charge to the most influential in society. Everyone who was anyone would be there tonight.

None of this, however, could dampen Hermione's growing enthusiasm for the evening's event. With her two best female friends at her side, she felt on top of the world just then, her earlier melancholia banished forthwith.

Lounging in simple muslin dressing gowns, the three women partook of a simple dinner fare made of cold cuts, cheese, and fruit. When their dinner was done, they stripped off their garments and hopped into the bath together, playfully throwing foamy soap globules about like silly children, before rinsing off and dipping into the relaxing hot tub, where they gossiped some more until they pruned. Both her friends regaled her during this opportunity with stories of what activities in the bedroom would encompass from their own repertoire of experiences.

As the bell struck the eight o'clock chime, the women began in earnest to prepare. After stepping out, toweling down and drying their hair with charms, each chose a scented lotion to moisturize their skin (Hermione preferred a light floral that had the most subtle hint of rose). They cleaned their teeth thoroughly until they gleamed, cleaned their ears, and at Fleur's urging, with a wave of wands, they each depilated their own bodies in the newest fashion trend to come out of Milan (that is to say, they removed all of the hair from their legs, under their arms, and even between their thighs – much to Hermione's embarrassment).

That done it was time to dress.

Rolling her stockings up, Hermione was cinched into her Italian-styled bustle by Ginevra, latching the garters properly, and then fitted into her light rose-colored, French Chiffon gown. With the plunging neckline, she felt rather naughty, honestly, but _La Cerise_ was a house where one played forever at masquerade, and so thankfully her identity would remain secret except to those she deemed worthy to know the truth. With such anonymity came a certain amount of bravado, she discovered to her mischievous delight, and so gave the matter no more thought.

Fleur applied her make-up next, going dramatic with pink, magenta, gold and bronze metallic paints for her eyes (which could be seen strikingly through the slits in her mask). Her lips were lined and colored a matching pink to complete the picture. Her long tresses were then pinned up on the sides, and left to drape in a cascading waterfall of elegantly tamed curls with some strategic waves of a wand.

"_V__raiment magnifique!_" Fleur regressed into her native tongue again without thought as she took Hermione in from head-to-toe, squealing in delight at the final result of her hour-long endeavor. "Now for zee jewels." A pair of rather beautiful, gold drop earrings – a flower pattern punctuated with diamonds at the bottom – were hooked through her lobes. Upon her wrist, a gold bracelet with diamonds and opals rested. She requested that Fleur tie the green satin ribbon around her wrist as well, allowing it to rest under the bracelet in tribute. Forgoing a necklace, feeling it would appear much too gauche and detract from the overall effect - "Simpler is better!" she'd argued – Ginny slipped cream-colored, heeled shoes onto her feet to complete the picture.

Casting a cooling charm upon herself to assure she did not sweat this evening, Hermione finally set her wand aside and carefully tied her mask about her face, adjusting it so the drama of the eye shadowing showed as much as possible. _Now_, she was ready.

Absently watching her friends finish their own preparations, she sat upon the settee and looked out the open French doors nearby, wondering whether Pyg would return this day or the next. Her little familiar had spent the entire afternoon, presumably, with his 'Papa.'

Upon the ten chime, Aurora arrived to direct her downstairs and into the ballroom. Hermione felt decidedly uncomfortable around the woman after yesterday's accusations, so the first thing she accomplished was to apologize to her patron most sincerely. "Come, there is no need for further chagrin, my dear," Aurora soothed, gently embracing her in friendship. "Aster's wicked ruse harmed each of us – none more so than you and _Monsieur _Dragon. But the truth has willed out, and your suitor is still just that… and tonight is a new beginning for us all." She looked rather pointedly at Ginevra out of the corner of her eye. "Let us put this tragedy behind us, and enjoy tonight's revelry. And tomorrow…" She smiled with her heart in her eyes. "Tomorrow, young love will finally bloom."

Despite the temperature charm, Hermione could feel her cheek heat. "There is no guarantee-"

"Hush," the Abbess demanded gently, bending to retrieve the edge of the hem of Hermione's dress and looping the bustle at the appropriate bottom button at the sway of her back to keep the dress from trailing along the floor. "There is no doubt in my mind as to the outcome." Standing once more to her proper height, she took her charge's hand. "So should it be for you, my dear."

_Yes, there should be no doubt_, she forcibly reminded herself as she and her friends and the House Mother made their way towards the Grand Staircase.

The Ball was already in full swing by the time they touched the bottom step, guests having arrived early it seemed to catch a glimpse of the Auction Virgin and her suitors. Lively music and conversation filtered out through the large double doors on the other end of the hall, and Hermione glimpsed the throng of masked couples milling about, looking for one black and silver mask in particular…

"My dazzling, wily fox," a familiar voice smoothly approached from the left. The Italian stepped up from his waiting bench in the lobby to swoop down upon Ginevra with possessive intent. Kissing the back of her hand as if she were the magnificent Queen of Sheba reincarnate, he politely tucked her arm into his without further ado, staking his undeniable claim then and there for all to see. "Would you care for a glass of champagne, love - to celebrate our betrothal?" he asked, sweeping her away with romantic flair.

Hermione and Fleur watched the couple fade into the crowd, mouths parted with surprise and a bit of envy.

"That one, 'e eeze quite _suave_," Fleur noted, smiling, adjusting her mask – a pretty black and gold piece adorned with sequins and feathers and black and silver beads.

Aurora huffed in amusement as she led her charge into a hidden alcove off to the side, obviously waiting for the signal from her man at the door – The Keeper – that all of the suitors had arrived. "_Vous n'avez aucune idée_."

_("You have no idea.")_

Hermione chuckled, knowing just how persuasive _Signore_ Italian could be, remembering the letter he sent his fiancée just yesterday.

The three women waited in amicable silence, and Hermione watched as Wolf, Jer and Gold arrived, each man entering the ballroom with their dance card schedule, as pre-assigned by _Madame_ in advance in correspondence sent earlier this week to each of the final bidders.

When he appeared at the entrance, Fleur was sent to retrieve an awkwardly-fidgeting Harry, who fiddled with his cravat and tugged the hem of his coat down repeatedly. He looked like a country Lordling come in to the city from the field for the first time; like a young lion stepping into a nest of serpents without a clear strategy for avoiding being bitten… or getting out alive, even.

As Fleur led him over to their hidden nook, her best friend smiled at her and shook his head, his gaze sweeping her from head-to-toe. "'Mione, you're stunning," he breathed in awe, bending over her hand and politely kissing her knuckles, accidentally bumping the edge of his black and gold mask in his uneasiness with the situation and surroundings.

"Thank you, Harry," she casually addressed her oldest friend, trying to set him at ease. She was still just Hermione, regardless of the trappings and airs, and she never wanted either of them to forget that fact, for fear it would change their friendship. "You look rather dapper as well. Even your hair appears to be behaving tonight," she teased, noting his usually rakish, dark mess was combed stylishly.

Harry's cheeks bloomed. "Yes, well, Luna helped me to get ready."

Ah, that explained it. Luna Lovegood was amazingly talented with her wand. Despite the witch's eccentricities, the woman made Harry genuinely happy, and she seemed to love him with equal fervor. Theirs was a good match that should be encouraged to a marital conclusion. That determination alone would help give her the extra fortitude she needed to make it through tonight and tomorrow, she resolved.

"Miss Delacoeur, if you would kindly allow Mr. Potter to escort you for the evening, as would be appropriate for a couple's soiree, my ward and I could, at last, make our grand entrance," Aurora stated with a polite wave of her hand towards the double doors.

Harry held his arm out to Fleur – who stood nearly eye-to-eye with him in her heels. "Right," he stated with a nod. "We'll see you inside then, 'Mione, _Madame_," he bowed to them both at the waist and led Fleur off into the fray.

They waited ten more minutes, until the half-chime.

"Shall we, my dear?" Aurora held out her gloved hand.

Swallowing her apprehension and taking a deep breath, Hermione placed her fingers over the matron's.

"Yes, I think it is time."

_La Cerise's_ Madam nodded. "Indeed, my dear - time to embrace your destiny."

They moved towards the doors, and were announced by The Keeper rapping a long staff against the floor loudly, to call attention to the entirety of the room. The music stopped, and every eye turned as his voice rang out the introduction he had been groomed in advance to confer: "Ladies and Gentlemen, Witches and Wizards, it is _La Cerise's_ paramount honor to present to you the Lady of the House, _Madame_ Aurora Sinistra, and her charge, _La Princesse_."

A room full of bows and curtsies greeted them, and both women returned the gesture, per decorum. Upon the straightening of her spine, Hermione made a rapid sweep of the room, searching… hoping… searching…

And there he was, over by one of the cathedral windows standing alone, champagne glass in hand, tipped at her in an admiring salute. Even across the distance, his silvery orbs captured her attention; they called to her, their naked longing burning and marking her indelibly. His hesitant smile told her silently how much he had missed her, and that he still loved her, and that he was nervous as to her reaction to him after all that had transpired this week…

_My Dragon…_

In that moment, everyone else around her ceased to be and there was only _him_.

"My destiny," she whispered to him, surrendering to love unreservedly, no longer haunted by concerns that this feeling she bore for her enigmatic suitor might someday leave her lonely and bitter, or that the House had ensorcelled her emotions, or that tomorrow someone else may win her body, or even by the knowledge of what the possible consequences were from his undesired tryst with Aster. All she knew was that she wanted this wizard in whatever manner she could have, and she would put her faith in the Fates that all would come to pass as she hoped.

At her side, Aurora chuckled. "I will guarantee that you will have time tonight to covertly dally with him," the woman murmured under her breath in French, leading her towards the first of the introductions to be made for the evening – an elderly man dressed with the blue sash of the peerage, and his lovely steel-haired wife, who wore the brooch of a Marquess. "Allow me to launch you properly into society first, my sweet, little cherry. We only have this one chance to do it right, after all."

"Yes, _Madame_," she humbly replied, dropping her gaze in obedience and forcibly restraining her urges. She let herself be led about the room in a series of presentations then that were guaranteed to induct her properly into high society. The brief succession of conversations with the myriad of individuals were genteel, sometimes pleasantly amusing, and as she had been trained, always left her guests wanting more, praising her manners and wit _in absentia_.

In this way, more than an hour and a half passed. All the while, Hermione was constantly aware of _his _eyes upon her, their blatant hunger causing pulses between her thighs. Her heart fluttered in anticipation for their dance, which would be third in line tonight – at least another hour away… Could she make it that long without touching him again? Just to hear his voice…

_Buck up! Think of England_, she reminded herself forcibly of her duty, and with that mental encouragement performed most excellently thereafter.

* * *

**_TO BE CONTINUED…_**

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTES:**

**Morpheus = In Greek mythology, Morpheus is the god of dreams. In Victorian and Regency Era slang, to say that one was in the grips a 'morpheus' is to infer they were in a deep sleep.**

**_Bébé_**** = French for "baby." **

**Mif = Victorian and Regency Era slang for "yucky flavored."**

**Napoleon's rule of the French Empire ended on June 18, 1815 with his defeat at Waterloo. By the time of this chapter in the fanfic, his defeat would have been known and announced in Muggle papers. I am assuming the wizarding world also knows of it, as half-bloods and muggle-borns were around then, too. Despite this, it would take years for the mess to settle down and for people to _want_ to move back to France. **

**Belle de Nuit = French for "Beauty of the Night."**

**Non = French for "no."**

**Often near the end of a social event, such as a ball or musicale, a fourth meal would be served to guests. This meal, supper, was usually served around midnight, and was typically made up of cold meats and cheeses, bread and rolls, perhaps some small savory pastry creations, with a large selection of sweetmeats. Wine, especially champagne, ale, tea and coffee would usually accompany a fashionable supper. In this fic, however, I have chosen to have Aurora go all out on hot finger-foods and expensive pastries to show-off the wealth of _La Cerise_, and to denote to the party goers how very special she finds The Princess (as her patron, the elaborate set-up reflects the Madam's feelings of Hermione's true worth, which will help launch the young Miss Granger into the world properly, if she chooses to join the _haute ton_ [high society] after leaving _La Cerise's_ walls).**

**Broadwood and Sons pianos = One of the most prestigious piano companies in the world, named after its founder John Broadwood. The instruments have been played by musicians including Mozart, Haydn, Chopin, Beethoven and Liszt. The company holds the Royal Warrant as manufacturer of pianos to Queen Elizabeth II. **

**Amuse-bouche = French for "fun mouth," meaning one-bite appetizers.**

**At the end of the Regency Era, it became the fashion for a very brief while (approximately ten or so years) for a woman to shave herself bare from the neck down. The fashion's origin was believed to be Milan, Italy, as a result of an outbreak of pubic lice (what we slang refer to as 'the crabs') in bordellos (although this reason is hotly debated in modern times, with opposition stating that it was more an underground rebellious behavior, with no medically-linked cause). Whatever the reason, the trend reached the upper society in Britain. Older generations did not embrace the idea, obviously, but someone of Hermione's age most likely would have. Hence I have included the idea in this fic. FYI: this trend reversed itself with the Victorian Era's straight-laced conservative values, as the shaving of one's privates (even under the arms) during that period of time was considered a personal hygiene value that only whores engaged in (_specifically_ to keep pubic lice outbreaks down).**

**Balls, soirees, dances all began at 10pm during the Regency Era and would continue sometimes until the following day's dawning (most ended around 3am, however). This was to allow for a formal dinner between 6pm-8pm, followed by an hour or two after for attending an opera/stage performance/musical recital/poetry recital/lecture or seminar. Following such entertainment, one attended a soiree or ball until the wee hours of the morning. This occurred only during the _haute ton's _Season (April-August yearly).**

**Vraiment magnifique = French for "very magnificent!"**

**Ten chime = 10:00 p.m.**

**In absentia = Latin for "in the absence of" (technically a legal term today referring to a defendant's rights, but can also simply refer to what goes on behind a person's back when they are absent from the conversation; this latter meaning is how I intended for the term to be used in this fic).**

**'Think of England' = A common phrase Victorian/Regency Era women were told to do when they were asked to do something unpleasant (usually having sex with someone, but not always). Nationalistic pride was not a joking thing during the time of the British Empire's expansion, and many times women were bullied with this phrase into performing acts they would otherwise feel distasteful. Here, Hermione uses it in such a mocking manner.**


	11. Ch 10: True Romance

**_CHAPTER TEN: TRUE ROMANCE_**

**_Diagon Alley - London, England_**

**_June 30 – July 1, 1815 (Friday night-Saturday morning)_**

At the midnight chime, Hermione was expected to lead the dancing off with the first partner on her card – Scots. _The Sussex Waltz_ tapered off in preparation for the lead song: a quadrille. The latest fashion for dancing, she'd been informed in advance by Aurora, was in the square sets of four couples – a dance which she was comfortably familiar, having come from France, where it had been made popular while she'd been at school, but was just now reaching England with the end of Napoleon's reign.

Her partner sought her out exactly on-time, and took her hand, bending low over her and placing a kiss on the knuckles, as perfectly genteel as could be. She curtsied, as proper, and they led the room to the center of the floor, where the dance commenced. It was an immensely pleasant time, and she and Scots chatted amicably. He wished assurance that his bidding status remained unchanged, and she pledged there had been no change. Of course, as they spoke, the other couples nearby all remained silent, hanging their ears on her every word, waiting to catch a hint of impropriety. There was not even a sniff of gossip to be had, for her exchange with Scots had remained perfectly proper.

As the dance ended, all sides bowed to one another, and Scots bent over her wrist, thanking her for the lovely dance. "I wait eagerly for this afternoon's late auction," he informed her, and bade her goodnight, intending upon taking his leave immediately so as to get in a good night's rest.

Her next partner, Wolf, danced _The Patriot's Waltz_ with her, and once more, the room joined in, this time engaging in the Spanish dance style that accompanied this tune. To her curiosity, the man seemed somewhat distracted as they interacted, as if his attention were elsewhere without his intention. "I apologize, Princess," he instantly was contrite when she inquired as to whether his health was at issue for the lack of concentration. "I did not mean to appear disinterested. Perhaps it is just the complexity of these dances. I am not much a man for such things, I admit."

After reassuring him that he danced splendidly, and giving him his reassurance that his position in the auction later that day was secure, the dance finally ended. Wolf bid her _adieu_ politely, yet still strangely detached, and hovered away.

Truthfully, Hermione could give the wizard's reaction little thought, as the dance for which she had waited all evening had finally arrived.

Her Dragon approached even before Wolf had stepped off the floor, those silver eyes heatedly capturing her once again. In her chest, her heart sped up to dangerous proportions, and she felt a tremor overtake her spine at the smile he leveled upon her. His feet stopped only when he was less than an arm's length away, although it was clear he wished there to be no space between their bodies. "Hello, my lovely," he murmured in a most socially improper greeting, too casual for such an occasion, obviously unconcerned that the entirety of the room was watching and listening. "I have missed you _very_ much."

"My… _Monsieur_ Dragon," she stumbled, feeling her cheeks blush as pink as her dress, catching the mistake before anyone could notice. Attempting for decorum, she curtsied as he bowed at the waist. "I am extremely pleased you could attend tonight, having heard of your egregious illness earlier this week." He nodded, and that was the extent of commentary she would make in public regarding his earlier infirmity, for she knew he wished to keep what had happened private. In sooth, they both did.

Her wizard accepted the unspoken social cue with a humble tilt to his head. "I would never miss an opportunity to be allowed to gaze upon your beauty and grace, no matter the sacrifice required. Will you permit me the further honor of escorting you to dance?"

Murmuring a correct response, she held out her hand. As he gently took it in his, the touch of their skin – for neither were wearing gloves to this Masquerade - was electrifying, causing a rippling magical effect throughout the room that all felt as a warm, supple heat. A collective gasp of awe rang out in the high-ceilinged room.

Unconsciously, Hermione and her suitor stepped closer to the other, their bodies now only a hand's measure apart – far too close for polite convention. Yet the compulsion to do so had come naturally, and been wholly unavoidable; her feet simply had moved of their own accord. Staring up into those mysterious, mercurial depths, her heart took off like a rabbit chased by hounds, and her hand tightened in his grip reflexively.

The _Slow Waltz in Bb_ started up a few awkward seconds later, at Aurora's urging, and the revelers were jostled out of their enthrallment with the scene to begin pairing up. "Shall we?" he inquired with a tilt of his chin towards the center of the room, stepping backwards and leading her into his arms for this single partner-only dance. They touched as permitted then to assure the proper steps, and they glided along as the music of the strings harmonized the air and all about them, couples whirled in time, but throughout that dance, Hermione's awareness was only of her wizard.

**X~~~~~X**

Draco's chest was tight with both adoring love for this woman in his arms, and with anxiousness that she had not mentioned once his status as a confirmed bidder for the auction later that afternoon. He decided, therefore, to be bold. "Does your request of last Saturday still hold true?" he audaciously broke through the wall of silence that had encompassed their time together thus far.

His princess blinked uncomprehendingly, but quickly enlightenment shown in those lovely, amber-bronze depths. Shyly, she stared at his cravat. "Yes, I hold true to it." She paused, nibbling her bottom lip, drawing his attention to the spot and bringing heat to his loins with so innocent a gesture. "Do you?"

Such forthright courage, refreshingly free of artifice! He admired her all the more for having such daring traits. "Forever do I hold true to _all_ of my promises to you, my Princess – so long as you allow me the privilege?" Slyly, he allowed the fingers holding her palm to caress her skin with a short brush of his fingertips.

Struggling for her composure, he watched with interest as the heat flared up that scrumptious, golden throat of hers, while simultaneously spreading downward over her décolleté cleavage. "Then I await the determination of this afternoon's auction with hopeful anticipation."

"As do I," he admitted, his voice softer than he had expected, sincere in its fervent emotion.

The song was winding down, to her disappointment. "Will you stay on for the evening? Partake of the… culinary… delights?"

As they stopped to clap their appreciation of the musicians, as was polite, he nodded. "I will be here until you leave, although I believe I may step out into the hall for some air later." It was an implied invitation he hoped she'd take him up on once the remainder of her dance card requirements had been fulfilled.

He allowed their fingers to rub together naughtily as he escorted her back across to Aurora, who waited upon them with a beguiling smile. To his surprise, his lovely brushed a touch back just as he was to release her. Bowing low, he kissed the hand with the ribbon tied to the wrist. "It seems our ritual is well secured once more," he indicated the green adornment with a warm smile. "I thank you for such reverence to the custom, my lovely."

Demurely, she dropped her eyes. "I never fail to remember _our _traditions, _Monsieur_."

Turning to Madam Sinistra, he bowed even lower in respect. "Venerate Goddess of all men's hearts, you are, as always, simply too breathtaking for words to do justice."

Aurora held out her hand and curtsied slightly, as he took the fingers and placed a deferential kiss to the knuckles. "Ah, _Monsieur _Dragon, how you make a woman's heart flutter with such incredible flattery."

"Hopefully, you're not _too_ excited, my dear," a familiar voice dryly replied. His godfather swooped down to quickly take Aurora's hand out of Draco's reach and into his own. "I apologize for my lateness. There were… relevant and urgent business matters… to attend to. It took a great deal longer than I'd anticipated."

Draco couldn't have been more surprised than if he'd been bludgered at that moment. Words and events suddenly clicked into place now… He'd noticed back at the Rook's Club, when they'd met to discuss his grandfather, that Severus had 'cleaned up,' as it were. The reason became abundantly clear in that moment. As did the explanation as to how he'd have easy access to _La Cerise's_ Abbess, and had acquired her agreement not to process his Princess' rejection after the events of a few days past.

It would be considered rude to interrupt their discussion, even if he felt the hint had been directed more for him than for Snape's companion. In that moment, it mattered little as his lovely's next dance partner – Gold - appeared to take his Princess' hand. He watched with a belly of simmering jealousy as the other man said something too low for his hearing, but clearly witty, as it made his witch laugh merrily. The two were off on a cheerful country line waltz, Irish in origin; at least they would not be dancing solely together.

"Come for some provisional respite with us, _Monsieur_," Aurora offered, indicating the side of the room where the food was laid out banquet style, served by sharply dressed (and very attentive) outside-hired staff.

He agreed, taking step next to Severus, to avoid the impropriety of walking with Sinistra, who was to maintain the illusion of impartiality throughout the auction process. It was for this reason he noted that she also extended the invitation to Jer as they passed by the man, who waited like a silent hawk on the edge of the dance floor. The four partook of the selection of hors d'oeuvres with affable dialogue, and Draco discovered that his rival for the Princess was actually a rather pleasant and genial conversationalist, and a sharp business man, in terms of understanding the export trade. By the time they'd sated their appetites and returned to watch the dancing, parting as they did so, Draco had decided to look up Jeremy Stretton and consider him further for potential labor relations in the future.

After Jer's dance, it was nearly one and thirty, and his Princess was into what appeared to be her final dance with Knot. The dark-haired man had been lucky enough to have a single couples dance with the Princess, and was currently whirling her about the room, a small smile gracing his lips.

Something about his expression was oddly familiar…

"You _can't_ be one of her suitors. I forbid it."

Draco turned about in surprise to determine the context of such a statement made in a low, hissing voice… and instantly recognized the green orbs glaring up at him with undisguised loathing. It had been years since he'd last seen this particular glare, but he'd spent his entire puberty on into adulthood staring across a Quidditch pitch and in classes and down corridors into this exact set of eyes, and so knew them intimately.

"Potter." It was hard to disguise his aversion to his childhood nemesis entirely, although his own feelings had cooled over the intervening years. "You forbid _what_ this time, exactly?"

Harry James Potter's lip was curled with open disgust. "Her… The Princess. I forbid you from bidding on her in the auction tomorrow, Malfoy."

Draco almost laughed, until he realized that Potter was dead serious. The man looked positively livid, as if he would call him out at any minute. "_You_ forbid it? And just who are you to believe you have any say in the matter whatsoever?"

Harry stepped in very close, and spoke under his breath, his eyes gleaming with triumph. "I'm her fiancé, to be precise."

The man was obviously mad. "Preposterous," he scoffed, prepared to turn on his heel and walk away to prevent a scene. "No woman already spoken for may be offered at _La Cerise_, least of all in an auction." He waved a shooing hand at his one-time rival, as if swatting an annoying insect. "Delusions of grandeur always were your style back in school, Potter, but we're a long way from Hogwarts. I'm not interested in playing with the likes of you any longer."

He did turn away then, but only got two steps off when Gryffindor's former Quidditch Captain grabbed him with those lightning-fast Seeker reflexes and pulled Draco to a stop. "I'm serious, Malfoy. Decline your bidding status, or I'll go to Aurora myself and have her boot you in public tomorrow."

Draco looked down at the hand restraining his arm, then coolly back up at Harry, and took a step into the man, crowding him. "Unhand me, Potter, or I'll call you out right here." He tilted his head down, sneering in the wizard's face. "And we already know the better dueler between the two of us, don't we?"

"Some things, it seems, will never change," Severus dryly commented from behind Draco's right shoulder. It was the older man's firm grasp that disentangled Potter from him. "Why don't you go for some air, godson," he pointedly recommended.

"I warn you now: don't interfere in this, Potter," Draco advised him, coldly furious at having been threatened and in such a manner and place.

Snape gave him a light shove. "Go."

Heading out towards the Entry Hall, Draco took his godfather's advice and darted into the long hallway that led to the coat and powder rooms, finding a small bench inset into a nook to calmly sit and think.

Fiancé? It simply wasn't plausible. The rules of the House were very clear: they only offered pureblood witches of unmarried and unspoken status. Further, why would a woman who was affianced want to sell off her virginity to someone else? You'd think she'd want to give that to the man she was marrying.

No, Potter was full of dragon's dung. The Princess was no more his fiancé than Snape.

A flutter of movement down the hall caught his eye, and he turned his head to see his lovely hurrying in his direction. Standing, he made to greet her, when she looked about and quickly grabbed his arm, pulling him into a nearby coat closet. "Silence and lock it please," she requested, and Draco reached for his wand in an inside pocket of his coat and did as requested with an easy wave over the door.

"We only have half an hour, maybe less. The _Madame_ will make the pretense of coming to the ladies' powder room across the hall to find me then," she explained. "I saw you quarreling with Harry. What did he say to you?"

Draco was stunned. His Princess knew Harry Potter? How? Why? "He objected to my suit for you in this auction, and made an accusation regarding your… relationship… with him that I found to be most absurd. He claimed you were affianced to each other." He watched her carefully for her reaction.

His heart sank the moment her eyes lowered in shame.

"It is true," she admitted after swallowing heavily. "But there is an explanation."

It was suddenly too hot in that closet as his ire shot through the roof of his skull and out into the ceiling. "What possible explanation can you offer for trifling with my feelings?" With a small shove, he caged her against the wall between his arms and leaned down into her face, shaking with growing anger. "Was it for the money? Did the two of you conspire to offer me your love, putting on a clever performance, all so I'd pay top price for access to that luscious body of yours?"

Her brown eyes were wide with fear and she shook her head. "No, no, it was not like that. It was a pre-arranged marriage. Neither of us wants it."

**X~~~~~X**

Her Dragon sniffed in amused cynicism. "Funny, he seemed extremely protective of you. Surely someone in such a casual arrangement wouldn't have such a strong reaction to guarding your honor."

"We are childhood friends," Hermione rushed on, looking over her suitor's darkly-clad shoulder at the coat closet's door with a worried glance. Locking charms could easily be undone, she knew… "Our parents thought the match good, but I do not. Neither does Harry. He is in love with someone else. I had to earn the money to purchase the marriage contract so we may break it. That is why I am here."

She glanced up to see his reaction to this news. Her Dragon was assessing her behind narrowed, silvery eyes, his mask hiding much of his expression from her, making it too difficult to interpret his thoughts.

To her absolute astonishment, he did something then that was absolutely forbidden: he reached behind her quickly and yanked the bow on her mask, letting it fall away. Hermione gasped, and grabbed at it, hiding her face behind the fabric. "Stop, you will be disqualified. I do not want that!"

Her concentration wholly upon retying the bow, she did not see him shift his frame into alignment with hers; she did, however, feel his big, taut body as it pressed in, crowding her directly against the wall. Bending his lips to her ear, he whispered in that low tone that set her stomach aflutter. "_Madame_ knows of us. Pyg came to me, and told me that she had been aware of our prohibited, illicit activities that night in the rose garden. She has arranged for us to be alone now." He kissed the delicate shell of skin, inhaling her perfume deeply, and against her thigh, she felt his body harden and instinctively understood what that meant. "Why are you here, my lovely, if not for me to ravish you in secret?"

"I wanted… to explain… about Harry," she excused, finding it difficult to concentrate on the discussion with his mouth running over her rapidly pattering pulse in her neck. "So you would not misunderstand. I _do not_ love him. This auction… was to buy both of our freedoms. He wishes to marry a young witch named Luna Lovegood. I do not want my husband dictated to me by my parents. That is the truth, I promise you."

"Then I will give you one-hundred thousand galleons right now, if you ask it of me," he offered, gently pulling her hands – and her mask – away from her face. "Two-hundred thousand, five – whatever you want. Come away with me from this accursed place and be mine."

Hermione's heart quaked with longing. Oh, how tempting his offer was! "I cannot break my contract with _La Cerise_, for it is an oath that was signed in blood and bound by my magic as a witch," she sobbed in despair. "Even if I could break it somehow without personal mulct, _Madame_ would be penalized instead. She would lose her social standing as well as her position here at the House by sponsoring a failed courtesan, not to mention her share of the auction profits for her retirement. All of her hopes ride on launching me successfully in the auction later this afternoon." She pulled on his hands, slipping his grip, and refused to let him see her face. "Besides, I am required to earn the money to purchase my marriage contract to nullify it; it cannot be a gift or an inheritance of any kind. It is so stipulated by the law." She finished tying the ribbon of her mask tight around her head and adjusted it appropriately. "No, I am sorry, but I am duty and love bound not to betray Aurora's trust, as well as Harry's trust in me to see this auction through to the end. Please do not force me to break the House contract, my love. All of our lives are hinged on this auction."

Her Dragon leaned his forehead against hers, their masks bumping and his eyes held true anguish. "I would give you the world if you would but ask it of me."

She touched his jaw with her fingertips. "Give me this: win me tomorrow, make me yours. I wish that with all my heart."

Turning his head, he kissed her palm. "Swear to me that you feel this way for no other man; that your heart is mine, and that you will break this marriage contract with Potter as soon as the money is in your possession."

Their eyes met and she spoke from the depths of her feelings for her beautiful wizard. "I swear to you that you alone own my heart, my Dragon, and that I will break the marriage contract, should the auction afford me the bid I require to do so."

"How much?" he asked, his left hand smoothing with sultry insistence up her shoulder, over her throat, cupping her jaw.

With a sad sigh, Hermione shook her head. "That I may not divulge either, per the contract."

"Then I will bid away my whole fortune. It is yours," he swore, as he closed the tiny gap between them, and pressed entirely into her, his heart to hers, his hands roaming the skin of her bared arms, moving his head with purpose towards her mouth. "As am I."

Their lips met in a searing kiss, and that magical connection that existed between them coupled with the magical spell upon the House; it ran up the wall from the basement and directly through her and into him, flowing like warm, liquid silk through every nerve. Her arms ran up his chest, around his neck and clasped into that magnificently soft, platinum hair finally, as she'd wanted to from the very first.

This kiss was nothing like their first; this one was demanding, unconstrained, feral. His tongue plunged into the depths of her mouth and tasted every crevice, twining around hers, pulled apart - again and again. They both moaned at the exquisite taste and feeling. His hands moved to her waist, pressed into her hips with almost bruising pressure. Moving quickly, he bunched her dress up, pulling the satiny fabric to expose her lower body to his need.

Terrified by the recklessness of the moment, but desperate to feel his touch here, where no man had ever dared or been allowed, she was caught in a moment of indecision. "But… this is prohibited," she whispered the reminder, her whole body shaking with fear and excitement. "If we're caught…"

He silenced her protest by kissing her while simultaneously dipping his hand between her thighs, stroking over the thin satin of her Italian lingerie. It was a naughty act that could land them both into a world of trouble should anyone choose that moment to attempt to retrieve a coat, but the magic of the House spell flowed through her just then with another pulse of enticing warmth, and made her compliant in a manner she never could have anticipated – or fought off. Her breath and heart caught in her throat together, and she literally quaked as his fingers dipped under the fabric to touch her naked flesh.

"Oh, _God_," she whispered into his kiss, as he slipped between her folds to caress her tiny _cerise_.

Her Dragon groaned at that first touch. "You're eager for me, my Princess," he hummed in approval. "Soaking wet and bare-lipped, just as I knew you would be." Pressing his hard length against her thigh, he French kissed her again. "Feel my need for you as well."

Her hands gripped his shoulders and tightened as he stroked her tiny nub of flesh once, twice. "Stop, please! We'll be in trouble if..."

He shook his head, his bangs rubbing against her cheek. "I have been dying to bring you since the moment you first smiled at me. I will not be denied any longer." With that, he dropped his lips on hers again and did not ease up as his fingers expertly caressed her most sacred place. Hermione wailed into his mouth as he found a particular spot that sent sparks up her spine, her hands twisting into his woolen coat for support, her legs quivering uncontrollably.

_Ah, mon Dieu!_ They had to stop otherwise she'd end up breaking the contract right here, in a coat closet!

She tried to tell him this, to push him away, but his tongue seduced her as thoroughly as his hands – one between her thighs, the other smoothing across and down over one cheek of her hind, allowing his fingers to skim and trace the bottom curve with delicious, light feathering. Thoughts flew from her brain before she could grasp them long enough to speak, and her Dragon brought her to the brink of ecstasy within moments.

"That's it, my love, come for me," he enticed in a low, dark voice in her ear, twirling his fingers around her small, pink cherry as her rapture claimed her.

Hermione's head banged into the wall when the wave of bliss crashed over her and she moaned into his mouth as he captured her final cry. Every muscle in her body tensed, relaxed, tensed, relaxed in an endless surge of crackling energy that rolled over her womb and between her legs as thoroughly as the magic of the House had, leaving her boneless and warm and so very, _very_ satisfied in her Dragon's arms after it receded.

Cheeks hot, lips swollen, heart thumping wildly, and completely unsure as to what was the right thing to say or even think now, she could only look at him through a half-lidded gaze as she struggled to reclaim her breath, feeling slightly ashamed with how wanton she had behaved, and slightly excited at the prospect of doing this again with him.

Pulling his fingers away from their wicked entertainments, her suitor reached for his wand inside his coat pocket and waved it over both of them to make them clean and properly groomed once more. When he'd replaced the rod inside its pocket, he smoothed down her dress once, and pulled her into his arms, cradling her with all tenderness. "I'm sorry I pushed that, but I wanted… no, _needed_… to bring you pleasure, my Princess. After what happened earlier this week, I'd thought I'd lost you forever," he sighed against her cheek as he pulled away, and began running his mouth over her throat, kissing gently. "I despaired I'd never touch you again, and I wanted you to know how sincerely sorry I am for all of it, and that you are the _only _woman I desire. Will you let me explain what happened?"

Hermione melted into her wizard's expert handling, her heart slamming in her chest, stealing her very breath. "Pyg knew all and has clarified the details of Aster's treachery on your behalf for me," she murmured around his kisses. "I know it was a lust potion…"

"And the Imperius Curse," he acknowledged, and Hermione gasped, pulling away.

"An Unforgivable was used against you?" she gaped. "Aster would dare the Ministry's wrath merely to carry out revenge? That is madness!"

He shook his head. "She is a spiteful, vindictive cow, but it is more than that which motivates her this time. I believe she is spurred on by greed as well." He took her hands in his and sighed. "She knows I will not involve the Ministry in this matter, for the scandal would ruin my family's reputation. Instead… what happened… she may have expected to conceive a child from the union."

Hermione felt her tears wet the fabric around her eyes. "Gin… _Le Renard Rouge_ and I had considered that possibility. Aster will blackmail you, drain your coffers dry."

Her beau nodded. "So she believes, expecting she will raise my son or daughter – my first-born and heir - as her own, I am sure, to turn him or her against me." He smirked rather predatorily then. "But she'd be wrong. I always cast a spell upon myself before I visit any woman, to assure my seed cannot bear fruit. So it was with the Queen of the _Encantado _as well, when I captured her song." He gave her a boyish grin. "It was the motto of my school House: 'trust no one.' Apparently, Miss Astoria Greengrass forgot that important lesson."

"Is that Aster's true name?" she asked, thinking it too pretty a designation for such a vicious individual. "How do you know this?"

Her Dragon looked down in shame. "The witch has been after me since our school days, in secret. At that time, I didn't notice her. I didn't recognize her here at the House either, for she'd color-charmed her hair and wore a mask. You know I've been exclusively seeing her for the last several months, considering her for marriage, before you and I met." He touched her lips gently. "Everything changed that night you made your bow, however. I canceled my exclusivity with Aster soon after, knowing where my heart truly belonged. I'm sure that set her off on a rage and was what solidified her scheme of vengeance against us both."

"And what of her conspiring suitor?" she wondered aloud. "What part does he play in all of this? Was he Aster's means merely of getting me into position to watch your illicit affair through the mirror? Or will he play a more active role in the future?"

Her Dragon leaned back, dropping his hand. "Another man was involved?"

Hermione tilted her head and considered him. "Yes, the man who consumed Polyjuice Potion to appear as the _Madame_, to trick me into following him behind the mirror. Did you not see him after? Pyg explained he had been revealed by the time your potion wore off."

**X~~~~~X**

Draco put a hand to his head. Two people? Could it have been Cadwallader come back? Had the man been deceitful throughout, pretending to have been coerced by Aster, only to return later under the guise of Polyjuice to trick his lovely? Something important about how he'd gotten back into his bed that day… an incoherent detail hovered just around the edges of his memory. Who had brought him to his home? How had they known where he lived? Astoria had never been to his family's home, and the wards around the place would not have recognized her as a Malfoy and prevented her entry in any such case. Whoever had brought him home either had tricked the wards or was someone the wards would have recognized as being of Malfoy blood.

But, as far as he knew, only he and his grandfather were left…

Was his grandfather somehow involved? Was this some twisted plot to get him to marry Aster instead? Severus had explained that he'd had to go to his grandfather, the owner of _La Cerise_, and convince him to repeal his request to knock Draco from the bidding. Clearly, Abraxas had not, initially, wanted Draco paired off with the Princess. Why not? Was it, perhaps, because his grandfather had wanted the Greengrass match, and had plotted this entire scheme to impregnate the wench to force Draco's hand and bring her into the family that way?

"What are you thinking?" she asked, looking nervously at the coat closet door once more. "We must hurry, but I wish to know your thoughts."

Reaching up, he touched her cheek reverently. "There may be more to this nefarious design than I initially understood, but regardless of the outcome, I wish for you to know that I love you. That will not change, no matter my future."

His beloved began trembling under his hand. "You speak with uncertainty in your voice. Do you doom us already?"

He tried for a convincing smile and bent to kiss her. "I love you, no matter your name or blood. And later today, I will make you all mine." Their kiss morphed very quickly into something steamy and greedy once more. He whispered between pulls of lips, his hands careful not to muss her hair but needing to feel the soft curls through his fingers. "I promise, my Princess, I will not let you go, no matter how the world conspires."

"My Dragon," she whispered upon a sigh of happiness. "I love you truly."

There was an audible 'pop' behind them, and a familiar giggle. "Told you she'd let you kiss her again, Papa." They turned to find Pyg standing not two arms' lengths away, grinning up at them mischievously, his hands behind his back, as if maintaining innocence. He rocked back and forth on his feet. "You'd better hurry though, Mama," he cautioned. "_Madame_ is coming." He held his hand out to her. "You can always tell her that you caught me sneaking a look at the dance and brought me in here to repri-… repri-… um, punish me." He looked at Draco and winked. "You can come out after everyone's gone, Papa."

His lovely gave a light, bubbly laugh in amusement. "Pyg, you are positively outrageous, _bébé_."

That adorable smirk grew brighter. "I know." He tilted his head as if he could hear outside the door easily. "Hurry, she's at the end of the hall."

As the Princess drew away to take Pyg's hand, Draco stole her for one last kiss. "Wear the ribbon about your ankle for me at the auction," he requested with a naughty smile, letting their fingers linger a bit before she pulled completely away.

Holding onto Pyg's hand, they headed for the door, but she stopped and threw him a teasing smile. "Perhaps I will, perhaps I won't. You will have to win me to determine with certainty the outcome of your request." With that, she and her familiar opened the door and left, closing it behind them quickly.

Draco waited another ten minutes before following, giving enough time between their reappearance to throw off suspicion (and for his body to soften, so as not to draw embarrassment for his aroused predicament). In that time, he marveled that things had worked out, as he'd been expecting a rather horrible reunion that would require much explaining and begging on his part. That she'd figured the truth on her own and even charitably forgiven him such an unforgivable trespass had been a miracle. The issue of Potter had, too, been resolved; his lovely did not want the dark-haired wizard, and was engaged in this auction for the sole purpose of annulling the contract her parents had arranged for them.

It was a bit of a shock that she and Potter were friends, though, for it meant Draco would have to make a concerted effort in future to come to terms with his boyhood rival to keep the peace. If ever there was a miracle needed, the day he extended his hand in truce to the wizard he'd spent years despising would be the time!

Assuring with a final (regretful) wave of his wand that all trace of mischief with the Princess was gone from his body, he made his way back to the ballroom, and immediately drew to his godfather's side, pulling the man away from his entertainment at Aurora's side with an apology. "We must talk," he indicated the need for privacy. "Regarding my grandfather."

Severus nodded once, bid goodnight to his lady, and the two wizards left the Ball behind, walking side-by-side through the quiet Alley to an Apparation point. Once there, they waved their wands, and leapt for Malfoy Manor to discuss Draco's suspicions regarding the identity of the second man in Aster's scheme.

**X~~~~~X**

Hermione retreated to the women's after a brief discussion with the _Madame _in the hallway. It was clear Aurora guessed what had gone on behind the closed closet door, but aside from a single question in French requiring an assurance of her virgin status once more, and a demand for an explanation as to who the little boy was at Hermione's side, the woman made no complaint about her charge's whereabouts for the last half-hour.

Pyg returned to her rooms with a very politely engaged "goodnight," and Hermione accompanied Aurora back on her arm, the two conspiring to end the event for the Princess sooner, rather than later, under the excuse of needing beauty rest for the auction later that afternoon.

Making her way to Harry, Hermione and Aurora entered into a discussion about his objections to The Dragon in the bidding. "I know him personally," her best male friend murmured around a sip of champagne. "We were rivals at school. I don't like him, Herm… Princess. He's a foul git."

Hermione chuckled. "Is that the new slang of the season? 'Git.' What a funny word."

Harry sighed. "I'm serious. He's a Slyth…"

Aurora stopped him from saying anymore with a hand on his arm. "_Monsieur_, The Princess's contract is very clear – no suitor's private specifics are to be known to her, or the auction is forfeit."

Hermione nodded. "Harry, please do not jeopardize this opportunity for us all. Say no more." She looked about making sure no one was nearby to eavesdrop. "_Monsieur_ Dragon is a viable suitor, and one I would _very much_ like to keep." She emphasized that last part so Harry would understand her feelings on the matter in regards to this particular beau.

His eyes widened. "You can't be serious. But, he's a complete shade!"

Careful to maintain propriety in public, Hermione smiled politely and shook her head, but her tone was hard. "I am _completely_ serious, Harry. Don't interfere. I like him."

Harry made a grunt of disapproval and ran a hand through his hair, knocking his mask a bit off-kilter, and immediately righting it. "I object to him." He turned to Aurora. "Strenuously."

Madam Sinistra looked between them both, keeping her tongue for a long minute before speaking. "Princess, the contract states specifically that _Monsieur _Potter has the right to object to suitors the same as you."

Gritting her teeth, Hermione turned angry eyes on her friend. "Harry James Potter, if you do this, I will hate you forever. We shall never speak another word again," she spoke in a hissing whisper – and meant it, too. Having survived heartbreak this week in spades, she was through with anyone or anything who dared to interfere with her and the future she wanted to carve out for herself – especially including any relationship she wished to pursue with _Monsieur_ Dragon. "On my very witch's powers, I so swear it."

His eyes went wide, showing too much white. "You mean it. For him – a man you barely know – you would throw away our friendship? Why the devil-?"

Stepping in close, uncaring of watchful eyes now, she stared him down. "I have come to love him." It was said under her breath so no one else would hear except her fiancé, who looked at her as if she'd gone mad. "I will say no more, as you fully understand my position, I believe. Good night, Harry."

With that, she turned on her heel and made for Fleur's side. Her friend was in the midst of an animated discussion with Wolf, nearest the far windows, and she politely inserted herself into their conversation with an offer of champagne for both her guests. They accepted, and the three began discussing "safe topics," – that is, the newest fashion fad - Jocale charm bracelets, the appeal of quadrille dancing, Flavius Belby's 1782 account of his attack by the mysterious creature known as a Lethifold, and the retirement of Maximus Brankovitch III from Quidditch after last year's World Cup and his move from America to London earlier this year.

By the three o'clock chime, a wide circle of interested parties surrounded her and were lively debating the topics, even going so far as to place friendly wagers on the outcome of the next Quidditch World Cup in 1818, whether the popularity of Jocale bracelets would morph into necklaces next season, if Belby's account was over-exaggerated or not (two men even went so far as to agree to taking a trip to Papua New Guinea to see for themselves), and that quadrille dancing had seen its heyday this season and would be gone the next. Hermione noted that somewhere in the middle, Wolf and Fleur had escaped the great debate and made their way over to the food table to enjoy some cake.

By this time, she felt that she had politely made the rounds of the room, had an excellent opportunity to make societal connections, gave her suitors last minute assurances, as required, and thought it an excellent time to retire.

With a final sweep around the ballroom on Aurora's arm, and a courteous wish of "good dreams," to all in attendance, The Princess made her exit. Her chaperone escorted her up the Grand Staircase, leaving her at the top to her own devices, so as to return to her hostess duties, and Hermione headed for her rooms.

Undressing, washing the paint from her face, brushing her hair out, and cleaning her teeth, she threw on her nightdress and headed for her bed, exhausted, her feet a tad sore. Pyg appeared in a 'pop' in his true, fluffy form – white again - to maintain his position on his pillow next to hers. Reaching out, she stroked his fur, and he began to trill-purr happily.

"I love you, my Pyg," she yawned, her lids already closing of their own volition. "Thank you for tonight, _bébé_. Your Papa's kisses were as wonderful as you promised." She yawned again and said a silent goodnight to her Dragon, wherever he may be. "Oh, my, I am most exhausted. Later today it shall all, finally, come to an end, though. I cannot wait! Sweet dreams, little love."

Her familiar vibrated with a purr of contentment, and it was that soft sound that lulled her into her rest, finally.

**X~~~~~X**

**_Malfoy Manor - Wiltshire, England_**

**_July 1, 1815 (Saturday morning - three hours before dawn)_**

Draco conveyed his worries about his grandfather's interference again, relaying to him his suspicions that Abraxas may have been the Polyjuiced man during the events of Wednesday. Severus actively denied them.

"Your grandfather was as angered by the event as I," he insisted. "I do not believe he was an active party to Aster's duplicity."

Draco ran a hand through his hair, tossing his mask to a side table as he made to offer his guest some Firewhiskey. "How do you know?"

"Because Severus knows my greatest regret in life was meddling in your father's affairs once." His grandfather stood at the door to the Study, a tall, striking figure in black, his silvery hair perfectly combed, his blue eyes blazing. "And it cost me everything."

Turning to face the man who had terrified him for most of his life, Draco stared the former Death Eater down. "As if your word alone could convince me, Abraxas," he grated coldly. "For all I know, you're the one who cooked up this scheme with Aster, hoping to remain the faceless puppet-master behind the scenes, collecting the blackmail right along with her, regaining your family's wealth and bankrupting me in the process."

His grandfather strode into the room as if he owned it and took a seat on the leather-bound sofa, crossing his legs and folding his hands in his lap – as disarming as the Devil himself. "It was not me, Draco. I will swear it upon any Oath you wish me to take. I am not in league with Astoria Greengrass."

With shaking hand, Draco put his priceless, crystal glass down before he threw it in his rising ire. "Then explain how you know Aster's true name, Old Snake."

"Enough," Severus interfered with a hiss. "You will show respect for your grandfather, Draco." He held up a hand to cut off Draco's retort. "He may have done many questionable things in the past, but in this regard, he speaks the truth, I believe. Aurora outed Miss Aster's true identity to Abraxas. As the owner of _La Cerise_, he had the right to know when one of his workers had behaved ill towards a client."

"And the only _legal_ right to demand reparations from the bitch," Abraxas added, smirking. "Had you gone after her yourself, Draco, it would have been considered a personal vendetta – no better than challenging a duel - which are no longer legal with the Ministry, as you are well aware. You'd have faced imprisonment, or worse, depending upon what you'd done to Miss Greengrass once you caught up to her." His eyes gleamed with wickedness. "This way, she'll get what's coming to her in a way guaranteed to hurt her." He looked at Snape. "Her Gringotts account was frozen this afternoon, after the writ from the judge allowed for an injunction to prevent her from drawing upon it or closing it. I petitioned for a bank levy at the same time. By Monday, the account will be drained of funds to cover the costs she owes the House for rent and upkeep."

Draco puzzled through it silently. "That won't prevent her from having access to money through this 'mysterious suitor' who helped her carry out her plot against me and the Princess. What if the man is rich? She could always just marry him instead."

Abraxas raised an eyebrow at him. "You need not worry about him for now. I know who he is, thanks to your little Puffskein's nose for tracking. I'll take care of him." He shifted uncomfortably on the couch. "What you need to concern yourself now with is whether the wench is actually pregnant or not from your little rendezvous."

Draco laughed and shook his head. "Do you take me for a fool to get a bastard? I went to the House that day the same as I always do: prepared with an Anti-Conception Charm upon myself. If Aster carries, it is not from my seed."

Severus seemed surprised, and he exchanged a look with Abraxas. "You are sure of this?"

He nodded to both men. "Of course! If she had cancelled any spells upon me beforehand, I'd have been freed of the _Incarcerous_ and _Silencio_ that Philip had been required to place upon me at Aster's behest. That never happened… and then she cast _Imperio_ on me and held me beneath her sway, even under the lust potion's effects, until she had decided I had gotten myself enough upon her. It was only after she was re-dressed that someone – a man, now that I think on it - cast _Finite Incantatum_. While she had her way with me, however, I was under the protection of the anti-pregnancy spell."

Abraxas' smirk got wider. "It seems your influence on him, Severus, has been much more practical and complete than any I could have had. My hat's to you."

Snape snorted. "In any case, it seems the issue is cleared up. Now, may I retire to my own bed?"

Draco crossed his arms, staring his grandfather down. "Not quite. I want to know the name of the man who helped Astoria. It's painfully clear both you and my godfather are trying to hide his identity from me, Abraxas." He looked between the pair of dark wizards, suspiciously. "I was in Slytherin, too. I know the silent code spoken with hands." He smirked knowingly. "Shifting on the couch was clever, but I've used that myself as a distraction technique. So, what is the name of the wizard you intended upon telling Severus later, grandfather?"

Blue eyes met gray in a stalemate, neither giving ground. Clearly, whatever the eldest Malfoy knew about his attacker, he didn't want Draco to know.

At his side, Snape put a hand on his arm. "I will tell you all, Draco, but you must promise to listen and not interrupt with questions until the tale is finished."

"Severus," Abraxas warned, his countenance darkening. "The knowledge can only hurt."

Draco's godfather shook his head sadly. "The knowledge has done nothing but cause hurt in its hiding. It is the reason Theo has struck so forcibly against him. It is time for this secret to come out of its closet."

"Theo?" Draco asked, looking at his grandfather again. "Do you mean Theodore Nott? What has he to do with this?"

Severus took up the half-full glass of untouched Firewhiskey that Draco had put down earlier and swigged the contents in a single pull. When he was done, he put it down and sighed. "Mr. Nott has everything to do with this Draco, because he's part of your unrecognized family. Your bastard, elder half-brother, in fact."

Slumping back against the table behind his rump, Draco listened to Severus explain all, with the occasional interruption for clarification purposes by Abraxas. Somewhere in the middle, he dropped his arms and grabbed for the hard, wooden edges digging into his backside, seeking purchase as his world crumbled around his shoulders once more.

A half-brother he'd never known, but had secretly wished for his whole life. His mother's "accident" exposed as a murder at the hands of Theo's crazed mother. His father's suicide revealing Abraxas' innocence in that deed, and his true regret at all he'd caused.

The pieces fell into place one-by-one then… the loss of his cargo ships last year just after meeting Aster and adding her to his rotation. That had to have been Theo's doing, in revenge for taking up with the woman he'd been interested in (for he remembered the night of her bow, how 'Knot' had been practically glued to the woman's side until Draco had snatched away her interest). Come to think on it, he'd done the same with the Princess, hadn't he? Theo had been attentive to the new virgin, and Draco had swooped into the middle of their conversation without thought or care, garnering an invitation for a First Interview in the doing.

"He was hoping to take my child from me," he murmured in shock. "He wanted me to know how he felt."

Neither elder said anything, letting the truth sink deep into Draco's mind and heart.

His own brother had conspired to destroy him and to destroy his Princess. A part of Draco raged in fury at the mere thought, screaming for justice.

The other side of him felt as cheated by the ugly truth as Theo probably did. After all, both of them had been denied acceptance by family members merely because their ancestor's blood status wasn't considered up to snuff (Merlin's beard, his own grandfather hadn't even wanted him to be born, going so far as to hex his mother's womb and to pair his father up with another woman in an extra-marital affair, hoping it would end in his parents' annulment).

Still, it wasn't enough to pulp his heart and make him overlook all his half-brother had done to him and the woman he loved.

"He'll be at the auction tomorrow," he realized, his mind whirling over possibilities.

His grandfather and godfather exchanged a look. "He might not be," his father's father insinuated his intent smoothly, but in a manner that could never implicate him. "You never know."

Draco considered that seriously, but finally shook his head. "I'd like to meet with him next week to talk. My brother, Aster and I have much to discuss. Can you arrange it?"

As inscrutable as the poised and waiting viper, Abraxas nodded. "I can."

"Good," Draco nodded, standing to escort both of his guests out. He had sleep to catch up on if he was to be up in time for the auction at three o'clock later that afternoon. "Then please do so, for Monday brunch, eleven sharp. Here, in the Drawing Room. It's time we put the past to rest."

**X~~~~~X**

**_Diagon Alley - London, England_**

**_July 1, 1815 (Saturday morning – an hour until dawn)_**

Naked, Severus slipped into Aurora's bed as stealthily as possible. He's snuck past the wards on her balcony, knowing their secret, feeling a compelling need to be with her just then. There was no desire for seduction; this was merely satisfying a whim to be next to her, to hold her close, to feel her heartbeat against his hand as he cupped her breast, and to cradle her backside into the fold of his hips as he slid his knee between her legs.

Stirring only slightly, she settled easily into his spooning embrace, as he leaned his head against hers. Instantly, he felt comforted, and began drifting off to sleep to the sound of her light breathing.

"_Je t'aime_," she whispered to him just as he was fading into oblivion.

He kissed her bared shoulder – his way of reciprocating the sentiment, nuzzling his nose into her neck and sighed with gratification.

He was a happily spoiled man.

**X~~~~~X**

**_Theodore Nott's Townhouse - London, England_**

**_July 1, 1815 (Saturday morning – minutes before dawn)_**

Abraxas Malfoy crept through the wards surrounding his grandson's townhouse, impressed by the strength of the enchantments Theodore had used to protect his home. It hadn't been enough, however, to keep out a former servant of the Dark Lord. There were spells he knew that none but another Death Eater would have access to, as such dark magic was only available to those who had learned it directly from a Master of the Dark Arts.

Stepping through the house on muffled feet, he found his grandson and his whore lying abed, entangled with each other, Theo's mask thrown as haphazardly as his clothing about the room, along with hers. Apparently, the man had been eager to bed his wench.

He had the room bespelled for silence and warded against escape with an easy flick of his wand, and then had the couple's wands in his possession with a simple _Accio_. Not willing to take chances, he cast _Incarcerous_ upon the bed, chaining them down. This had the effect of waking them rather abruptly. The shouts began seconds later.

Conjuring a chair for himself and sitting casually, Abraxas crossed his legs and summoned light for them all to see by. "_Lumos Maxima._"

"_You._"

Theo's snarl said it all; obviously, the young wizard knew who Abraxas was, and what part he had played in his life.

"Me," he confirmed with a small bow of his head. "Since it is clear that you know who I am, I am going to assume, grandson, that you understand why I have come. So, shall we dispense with the pleasantries, and get to the meat of the matter? I want you to leave Draco alone. Permanently."

Nott laughed, and his woman echoed him.

"Shut it, my dear, or I will rip your tongue from your mouth," he threatened Astoria, turning a coolly, unaffected eye towards her.

"Menacing my wife will earn you your death, old man," Theo waspishly promised.

Wife, hmm. Interesting. "Congratulations on your nuptials," Abraxas dryly commented. "I take it you're newlyweds, then?"

"Married yesterday," Astoria foolishly bragged.

He nodded. "Wonderful. I expect great-grandchildren soon, then."

Theo smirked, and Abraxas knew what the man would say next; he had goaded him into this confession, in fact, wanting the truth of the matter. "Oh, I believe your wish will come true in about nine months' time, grandfather - as of this last Wednesday."

Feigning ignorance, Abraxas coached his grandson's conversational skills. "Why that date specifically, Theodore? Was that the day you knocked-up your pretty, little whore?"

Astoria, it seemed, didn't take him seriously on the whole 'remaining quiet' notification. "How dare you! Who do you think you are, you dried up, prunish-" That was as far as he would allow her to go, casting a non-verbal '_Silencio_' on her.

"You really must learn to curb this habit you have of talking out of turn, my dear," he purred vindictively, deciding right then and there that he did not like Astoria one bit. He leaned forward slightly, staring her down with venom. "The only reason I haven't sealed shut your lips with an enduring sticking charm is because Aurora requested I not harm you. That and the fact my grandson here would probably never forgive me for denying him the pleasure of a hole to stick his cock into on occasion." He let her see in his eyes that he would like nothing better than to be irritated enough by her flapping jaws to take action against her, however. "When I want you to speak, you will do so again. Until then, you will remain quiet in my presence, else I forget that I am no longer a servant of the Dark Lord and accidentally revert to my former entertainments."

Even in the pale bluish-white light, the little minx's face blanched and she shut her mouth.

Abraxas turned to Theo, sitting back again in his chair. "I asked you a question, grandson: what happened on Wednesday that would merit such a momentous occasion as a birth nine months hence?"

Theo was assessing him warily, considering options. Abraxas had seen that same look dozens of times on the faces of those who had been stupid enough to double-cross Voldemort, or those who believed themselves strong enough to keep out a Legilimens. Apparently, Theo was learned in Occlumency, and was considering lying to him.

He pointed his wand at his grandson's head and proved the boy wrong, ripping the memories to the forefront and choosing what to watch from amongst them as easily as flipping through an illustrated card stack. When he'd achieved all he was after, he released the wizard, who gaped at him with real fear, perspiration dripping down Theo's face and beading his upper lip. "Ah, so your mother kept a diary that she'd willed to you upon her death last summer," he spoke the truth aloud. "That was clever of the deceitful bitch. That's how you knew about your connection to the Malfoys."

"You ruined her!" his blood-kin screamed in rage, struggling against his bindings. "You destroyed her with your games. You denied me my rights as first-born as well as the love of my father. And, as if that wasn't enough, you killed her! I know it was you, you cur! She suspected she was being stalked by you before her death."

Abraxas coldly looked at the boy and nodded. "All true." He held up a hand to stop Theo's ravings. "But your mother was hardly an angel, to be fair. _She_ came to _me_ with the idea of seducing Lucius away from Narcissa, whom she'd always seen as her rival, even back in their school days. Home-wrecking, I believe they call such behavior. When my son denied your mother to remain with his wife, and you were born, she blackmailed us not to put Lucius' name on the birth certificate."

"What a terrible secret to have to maintain. Poor you," Theo spat scathingly.

Abraxas merely shrugged. "Understand, boy, I paid her not just to make the scandal go away, but because you were _my grandson _– a Malfoy by blood – and it was my responsibility to care for you. All these years, it was my money that bought you protection and safety. _I _assured you wore the best robes, ate the finest foods, and had the newest books. The Margrave Weiss, who married your mother years and years later, did so through _my _intervention. I hoped to make their match to secure _your _future of a title and financial security. I hoped it would be enough to bring your mother contentment." He smirked mockingly. "There is simply no pleasing some women, however. Needless to say, it was a surprise to no one when the Margrave ended up dead of the same ailment as your mother's first husband – Widow's Tea poisoning, I believe the fashion now deems it." He frowned. "Your namesake was a friend of mine, Theodore, so you can imagine I took it poorly when I discovered the truth that his own wife had done him in. And I've no doubt my Lucius would have ended up in the same manner as all the others. Lucretia was a poisonous, ambitious spider of the blackest heart, who used men for their status and wealth." He glanced at Astoria and his smirk widened. "I dare say you've managed to capture one of your own, my boy. Beware of this one. She will eat you alive if you ever come to care for her."

Theodore struggled futilely against his bindings again. "What, by Beelzebub's will, do you want? Leave us be!"

Having pulled the information he needed from his grandson's head already, Abraxas stood and confidently walked over to the large window casement, peeking out past the curtains onto the street below. "Well, now that I know what you believe will be the occurrence nine months from now, I intend to wait until this afternoon right here with you both to help determine the _real_ father of any potential child your wen… wife… may be carrying, Theodore." He turned and looked at his handsome grandson, whose features were more like his – dark hair, sky blue eyes, strong lips and jaw – and felt a touch of compassion for the young man. He really didn't seem to understand women at all. "The spell to determine pregnancy and paternity will tell us later this afternoon – three days after the incident – whether she is, in fact, going to be a mother, and whose child she carries in such a case." He walked over and sat on the end of the bed and patted Astoria's ankle fondly. "So, my dear, we're going to sit here – the three of us together, like a family – until the five o'clock chime. Then, _I'm_ going to cast the spell upon you and we'll all know the truth at the same time." He stared her down with all of the coldness in his heart. "And if it is determined the child you carry belongs to neither of my grandsons, we will discuss what to do with you then."

Astoria stared at him with terrified eyes; having spied her death in his gaze should the baby not be a Malfoy.

Putting that fear there made Abraxas particularly happy.

* * *

_**TO BE CONTINUED…**_

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**AUTHOR'S NOTES:**

**Shade = Regency Era slang for a person of questionable moral character, usually referring to men, not women.**

**Jocale charm bracelets – A branch of magic I invented for my various fanfics, involving crafting jewelry with enchantments. At about this time, during the real end of the Regency Era/dawning of the Victorian era, charm bracelets were "in fashion" and so I thought to incorporate the idea in the story.**

**Bare-lipped = Slang for a woman's privates that are clean-shaven (no hair).**

**Ah, mon Dieu! = French for, "Oh, my God!"**

**My hat's to you = Slang for "my hat's off to you," which means "I concede to your greater wit/influence/intelligence."**

**Beelzebub = Another nickname of the Devil.**


	12. Ch 11: Free To Love

_**CHAPTER ELEVEN: FREE TO LOVE**_

_**Diagon Alley - London, England**_

_**July 1, 1815 (Saturday morning)**_

After a rousing evening, with the last guests leaving around the five o'clock hour, Aurora was up again at eight, disentangling herself carefully from a snoring Severus. Conducting her morning toilet quickly, she hurriedly dressed, stopping on the way out the door to sip a Restorative and Energy Potion. Heading down to the Grand Ballroom to assure the clean-up had been conducted by the house elves as instructed earlier, she then began transforming the room in preparation for the auction later that afternoon.

The miniature stage from thirty years prior was brought up from the basement, as well as the curtains, the podium for the auctioneer and the chairs for the bidders and audience members. One look at these old items (kept in a box with Undetectable Extension and Impervius Charms cast upon it, so time and the elements could not do their damage), and Aurora began transfiguring and color-charming the set, until it met with her approval.

Within two hours, the giant ballroom was ready – the heavy curtains on the windows were closed, the large palm fronds dotting the room were left exactly as-is (a nicer effect of greenery she couldn't have planned), the stage was up and decorated in the corner, the chairs were set in rows just in front of the three-step terrace leading down (so the Princess could approach _Monsieur_ Drag… _ahem_, the winner with ease). The nine final bidders would be, of course, in the front-middle, precisely established before the stage, laid-out in a straight line; the spectators' seats were behind, with a good measure in-between. Aurora had invited quite a number of people to attend today's event for good public relations reasons (she, Hermione, and the House, itself, would all obtain glory from this auction, should the price reflect a worth of inordinate value – and the winner would retain bragging rights with the _haute ton_ for decades, most likely). Against the far wall, away from the fray, were the tables that would be, later that afternoon, laden with delightful, cold hors d'oeuvres (a grand selection of expensive cheeses and meats and breads, fruit from around the world, and spicy deviled-egg platters), the finest champagnes and wines and a variety of rare teas from the Orient.

She considered the order of events again in her mind, to assure she did not miss a step.

Doors would open at three o'clock sharp. Bidders had been informed in advance by writ from her earlier this week that they would be required to present proof of their eligibility by bringing the magically-charmed cherry that had lain inside the gift box The Princess had presented to them during their Fourth Interview (the cherry opened to reveal a bronze plate with their true name _and_ House alias etched thereon, which they would present to the auctioneer once they had taken their chairs in the Grand Ballroom). Guests would arrive at the same time and be escorted to the proper seating area by hired staff.

At three-thirty sharp, the auctioneer would collect the name plates and exchange them for bidding paddles (which the suitors were to hold up into the air over their left shoulders when they wished to place a bid). The man (a squib hired for the afternoon who worked with the Muggle auction house, Sotheby's) would then step up to the podium and bang his gavel to call the House's attention so he might go over the auction rules. When that requirement was met, he would announce The Princess.

Standing behind the closed curtain, waiting for her introduction, Hermione would step out at her heralding, and be escorted around the stage by Aurora, who would bring her down the stairs towards the bidders in a final passing to give them a good, long look. Making the circuit, they would return to the stage, and The Princess would take a seat in the chair prepared for her at center stage. After last-minute primping (to assure her charge's dress hem lay just right and her hair was draped just so), Aurora would exit the stage, and the auctioneer would commence the bidding.

After the auction, Aurora would escort The Princess behind the winning bidder, the auctioneer, and Griphook, the representative goblin from Gringotts, to the seating area established behind the curtain to discuss the financial transfers of monies. In the meantime, all guests would mingle for a while. When that messy (but vitally important) business was complete, Miss Granger would then re-emerge from behind the curtain on the arm of her winning suitor. There would be the customary passing of the cake (in this case, and sparing no expense, Aurora had arranged for every guest to be able to have their own fondant-iced tea cake baked fresh at _Elphinstone's_ on Regent Street). After Hermione assured that every guest was served properly, she and her winning suitor would share their own cake.

When the dessert was consumed, the Lady of the Hour would present to each of her losing bidders their "_Adieu, Merci_" presents before bidding them a fond farewell and retiring with the winner to their specially-prepared apartment (the Royal Suite) on the Third Floor of the House, where they would lock themselves in until tomorrow.

Aurora would stay on following the couple's withdrawal to mingle and assure that every guest enjoyed themselves, helping to pave the way for the next auction hosted by the House. By the supper hour, the guests should all have left to return to their homes and the clean-up could begin. Only when _that _was complete would Aurora's day – and her final grand duty to the House and her position – be complete.

Satisfied with her work in the Ballroom, she headed up to the Royal Suite to check that every detail was perfect for The Princess' first sexual encounter.

The linens on the bed were indeed clean and fresh, the room had been aired properly, and magical candles had been set-up in strategic positions around the area to provide the perfect ambiance. A selection of French soaps and Moroccan edible body oils had been left in a basket in the bath, along with fluffy Egyptian towels. A basket with cold delights and sweets would be placed later that afternoon upon the small table by the window by Dobby, along with a bottle of the finest French champagne in a chilled bucket, a bottle of 17-year old Cabernet Franc from _La Cerise's_ private wine cellar, and a crystal decanter filled with a superior Portuguese tawny port.

One last detail to check… In the small dresser by the bed, Aurora opened the tiny drawer to find the more exotic "toys." If her guess was correct, some would certainly find use tonight.

Content with all she had done, she made her way to the kitchens to assure that Dobby and the other elves were on-schedule as well. After that, she would wait for the auctioneer to arrive for final instructions.

**X~~~~~X**

_**Diagon Alley - London, England**_

_**July 1, 1815 (Saturday early afternoon)**_

Hermione awoke around the twelve o'clock chime, having gotten a full eight hours of rested sleep, excited for the auction, which was to begin at three-thirty.

"Good morning, Pyg!" she chimed happily, and jumped out of bed, grabbing the little fluff ball and twirling him around in her hands as she spun merrily about. "Today's the day your Papa and Mama finally get to see and talk to each other as true equals!" Hugging her familiar, she quickly summoned Dobby for a light breakfast, placing Pyg out on the balcony for his requisite morning enjoyment. This time, to her amazement, he chose his human form again, and they shared the meal. He seemed particular enamored of freshly-baked croissants with butter, she noted, but didn't care for the flavor of coffee, preferring tea.

A knock on her door roused her to the arrival of Fleur and Ginevra, her friends coming to help her prepare for her big day. Immediately, the gossip and conjecture about today's events began in earnest.

"This is _boring_," Pyg lamented as the women gabbed for ten minutes on a hair design to match her outfit. "I'm leaving to go bother Papa," he stated and with a pop, he had Disapparated.

"What will you do with Pyg tonight when you are… otherwise occupied?" Ginny asked delicately.

Hermione made her way to the bath, the others trailing behind. "He will stay with _Madame_ for the evening. It has already been arranged."

"Will 'e stay 'uman now?" Fleur asked curiously. "Or go back to being fluff?"

"I am unsure," Hermione admitted. "I suppose it is something we ought to discuss this next week, after things have settled. I would hope he might consider his human form a more enjoyable, permanent distraction, but… I know really nothing about him, and what such a transformation might do to him."

As she began undressing for her bath, her mind turned the issue over. Would Pyg stay with her once this was done? He, literally, had the ability to go anywhere and assume any shape he wanted. Child-like though he was in his mind, he could easily assume the form of an adult and move out into the world as a wizard, establishing himself. But for how long? His lifespan was only ten years… wasn't it?

**X~~~~~X**

_**Malfoy Manor - Wiltshire, England**_

_**July 1, 1815 (Saturday early afternoon – minutes later)**_

Draco scrubbed his body with a soapy cloth, taking extra care to assure every bit of skin was clean before doing the same with his hair. That done, he laid back in the ornate marble tub and relaxed, enjoying his soak. He'd slept rather well – seven hours – and had then owl'd his Gringotts representative with final instructions for meeting up with him at _La Cerise_ at three.

He'd also sent a note to his grandfather, asking for a status update on the situation they had discussed earlier that morning, before retiring to their individual beds. As of this moment, he had yet to hear back from the man, however.

Severus appeared in his doorway scant minutes later. He took one long look at Draco lolling about the in the bath and snorted in partial-amusement, partial-disgust. "Do I detect the scent of bergamot?"

Draco rolled his eyes in dry humor at his godfather. "Funny. Droll. Did you come up with that one all on your own or did you require help from your lady friend?"

With a pop, Pyg appeared. "Hello, Papa. How are you feeling today?"

Practically jumping out of his skin at the unexpected Apparition directly into his bathroom, Draco sat up abruptly, reaching for his wand on the lip of the tub, a defensive spell already on the tip of his tongue in preparation. He paused when he recognized his visitor and growled in annoyance at being interrupted without cause or call - _again_. "Pyg, next time, please warn me before you appear so suddenly!" He sat back in the tub, letting his wand go. "Wear a bell around your neck or something."

The little creature (in the guise of a child) pulled himself up onto the vanity counter easily, in the way young ones often managed to monkey about, and smiled cheekily, his grin almost an exact duplicate of Draco's at the same age. "I'm sorry, but I was bored! Mama's getting ready for you and her friends are helping… actually, they're nattering, but they call it 'healthy conversation'… and I was just sitting around with nothing to do." He scratched his head. "Umm… Papa, what's a virgin?"

Severus' laugh boomed through the space, echoing off the ceramic and marble tiles and high ceiling. "Oh, you certainly will have your hands full with this one! I'll leave you to discuss the facts of nature with your… son… Draco. Find me in your Study when you've finished your… girlish primping."

Turning on his heel, the old goat left Draco alone with a curious, metamorphing Puffskein to answer a question that no man in his right mind would consider answering to anyone under the age of puberty. Panicking, trying to come up with a response that would satisfy without lending itself to more questions, he opened his mouth… and froze up completely.

"Bloody hell!" he cursed under his breath, feeling dread tighten up his scrotum.

**X~~~~~X**

_**Diagon Alley - London, England**_

_**July 1, 1815 (Saturday early afternoon – minutes later)**_

As she slipped into a hot bath, washing up with French-milled soap scented of apricot and tuberoses, the women offered her advice, scrubbing her back, and clipping and filing her nails.

"The first time will hurt a bit," Ginevra did not sugar-coat it. "As I am sure you are already aware. The best way to assure you minimize the pain is to relax all of your muscles, and to make sure he prepares you adequately with his mouth and hands. If he is… inadequate at that task, you must be willing to be direct about where he should touch and lick. If your _pêche_ is too dry, it will be a difficult penetration and cause you great pain. Make sure you are very aroused before his _bitte _comes too close."

"Eet was best for me to sit upon him, as he lay flat upon his back," Fleur admitted. "I could control zee speed and 'ow deep 'e went. Eet did not 'urt as much as I thought in this position."

Ginny nodded. "But that all depends upon how… large… your lover is. If he is more than the height from your wrist to the tip of your middle finger, it might be best if he were to lie atop you first."

Completely ignoring the fact that _any_ of the nine final bidders could possibly win her tonight, Hermione _only_ considered her preferred suitor's dimensions. Her recollection took her back to four days previous, as she'd looked through the two-way mirror… Trying to ignore the quick flash of jealous pain, she focused on the part she needed to, and then quickly tucked that memory away again. "From my recollection, I would fathom to guess that my Dragon is perhaps two of my hand's length."

Fleur's eyebrows shot up in surprise, the question of how Hermione knew this most intimate fact in her eyes. Ginny briefly explained this week's earlier fiasco, leaving off quickly on the more heartbreaking details, sparing feelings. Hermione's House sister wisely chose not to linger on the issue with any questions, and instead turned the topic back. "Zen, perhaps eet would be best if 'e eeze on top," the blonde replied. "Your Dragon will know 'ow to handle zee issue with delicacy, I am sure, since 'e loves you so, _ma petite_."

Pixies rioted around in her belly at the thought of her suitor leaning over her, fully naked and ready…

She listened attentively to the advice on how to give a proper oral experience, in case her lover wished it (or in case _she _wished to give such a gift to her lover), what to expect when he tipped the velvet, and what to do should he attempt to love her blind cupid as well this night. They suggested he take the lead on all of it, as this was his fantasy that he would have paid for, and therefore, she was his "love servant" to do with as he wished. The idea was decadently wicked, and Hermione felt herself become even more aroused at the mere imaginings, even as she washed her skin and hair.

Her bath completed, her hair and skin cleansed thoroughly, Hermione stepped out, patting down her wet skin gently with a soft towel. She then allowed her friends to prepare her in much the same manner as the night before (this time, they also buffed her toe and finger nails and polished them in the manner she'd long ago considered, giving them a pretty, pink shine). Her long hair was drawn up and off her neck to gather at a point that was intricately entwined in a Celtic knot-pattern that allowed the ends to trail down in beautiful curls (all held in place by only a dozen diamond hair pins). Her makeup was gently applied in that same sparing manner as the night before.

Fleur presented to her a gift of a gorgeous French bridal corset. It had delicate lace trailing the bust and hips, where it let off into a set of four garters, and five small fasteners up the front to hold it tightly in place – a new invention that eliminated the need for whalebone and laces. A pair of solid, white stockings and some lacey French lingerie were also part of the set, and Hermione hurried into them, eager to try on the beautiful presents.

"Ooh, so beautiful, 'ermione! A perfect fit!" Fleur squealed, smoothing down the lace so it lay correctly.

Ginny nodded in concurrence. "Simply stunning upon you! My goodness, your waist is so small!"

Hermione blushed, feeling very femininely powerful and sensual in the clothing.

Carefully sliding into the long, white satin-chiffon gown that had been specifically designed and tailored for tonight's event, Ginny did up the row of buttons in the back as Hermione adjusted the halter. In the looking glass before her, she could see that the cut of this lovely dress was very similar to the gown she'd worn the night before – tight at the hips and waist, but flowing straight down to pool at her feet and trail behind. Fleur immediately bustled the back to the button at the sway of her hind to keep the fabric from dirtying. The dress was made of a simple, single piece of fabric that crossed over at the bust to amplify her natural attributes, plunging into a deep 'vee' in the front. It was sleeveless, but strapped over her shoulders in a bridal-style that was fashionable with the Roman-cut that was still in-season. It dipped a bit in the back to show off her shoulder blades only – an enticement to those who dared look. It was not a fancy dress, but Hermione loved its simple elegance.

"Mustn't forget this," she naughtily smiled, presenting the dark green satin ribbon to Ginny to apply to her right ankle. Her friend twisted it round and round, and secured it with a bow and a gentle Sticking Charm. Slipping into her opera-toe slippers last, Hermione believed she was ready.

"Oh, zee jewels!" Fleur reminded her, and Hermione hasted to add the diamond, chandelier earrings _Madame _had gifted her, as well as the matching tiara ("A princess must have her crown, _non_?" Aurora had smilingly joked upon presenting her with these items soon after her auction dress had been delivered all those months ago). She then latched to her right wrist a diamond and emerald cuff bracelet she'd borrowed from Ginny to complete the look.

The two-thirty chime rang out in the House, and Aurora appeared at her door with a bouquet of black Bacarra roses, tied off with a white, satin ribbon – her special bouquet to offset all of the white (the color of the roses intentional to remind the bidders that she would be losing her _rouge cerise_ tonight to one of them). She was escorted down the back way to the Grand Ballroom by the Abbess and her two friends, bypassing the Lobby to avoid being seen by any early arrivals, and made to sit on the small Roman settee behind the curtain. There, she was given all her final instructions by her guardian.

**X~~~~~X**

_**Diagon Alley - London, England**_

_**July 1, 1815 (Saturday mid-afternoon – minutes later)**_

Draco and Severus Apparated into Diagon Alley around two-thirty and hurried through the cobbled street to _La Cerise's_ front door, arriving approximately six or seven minutes later. They lingered in the Lobby, not engaging each other in idle chitchat, instead each taking in the scene with a Slytherin's observing eye. His Gringotts representative nodded to him from nearest the front door of the establishment, and he returned the gesture politely. The goblin had been given his instructions and would follow them to the letter, he'd been assured.

Moving on, he looked for familiar figures, noting absently that Pyg was nowhere to be seen. It would be highly inappropriate if he was, however, given his apparent age; no child was technically allowed inside the House… but then, Pyg wasn't really human, and therefore didn't precisely qualify for such a restriction, did he?

The little creature had taken his leave of the Manor House in Wiltshire earlier to return to _La Cerise_ with a quick Apparition - after a rather enlightening conversation regarding human moral attitudes and sexual reproduction (and leaving Draco feeling thirty years older as a result). At the moment, he didn't see Pyg running amok through the room, though, so he assumed his lovely's familiar was behind-the-scenes, probably giving his Mama as exasperating a time as he had his Papa.

It was a tad strange to think of himself as a surrogate father to the little creature, but he was beginning to find himself falling easily into that position; it seemed almost too natural to speak of and to Pyg as if he were really human, and truly his son.

The accidental jostling of his shoulder by a passer-by drew his thoughts away from that topic and brought him back into awareness of the present. Glancing about, he noted that the room was already beginning to fill, and Draco recognized many of the other suitors who had made it to this point, as well as several of the guests from last night's formal ball. The excellently-dressed competition and the colorfully-masked spectators were like vain peacocks moving about in a world of glitter, chiffon and gold, strutting and engaging in social niceties, jockeying for a politically-dominant position in this world. Even more comical was that he found himself amongst them once more, passively employed in the same type of civic mingling, thrust into such a life by accident of birth.

But then, if he hadn't such a fate, he would never have met his Princess…

To his annoyance, Potter caught his eye from the corner nearest the Floo, where people were arriving in flashes of brilliant green light (a ghastly way to travel, in his opinion). The emerald orbs of his rival paused very briefly on him before moving on, dismissing him without a second thought. Excellent! It appeared The Princess had spoken to her superfluous fiancée regarding his behavior. At least the issue of their mutual dislike wouldn't explode into a public confrontation here and now. He fervently hoped, for his lovely's sake, that such an expectation still remained true when the dust settled from today's bidding and Draco stood victorious as the winner…

Delicious thoughts of what he planned to do to his lady love tonight flashed through his mind and he shut his eyes to enjoy the fantasy for a moment. First, he would cast an Aphrodisiac Charm upon them so they could enjoy an entire night of love-making. Next, taking it slow the first time, he would initiate her gently. After that, however, all bets were off, and he would take her from position to position, teaching her the pleasures of the flesh in explicit, sinfully-decadent detail.

The three o'clock chime rang out, and the Grand Ballroom doors opened, forcing him to focus on the present. Attendants stood ready to escort guests to their proper seating location, while the bidders were called to take their seats in the row directly fronting the stage by The Keeper, who kept an alert vigil on the proceedings. Withdrawing the magical cherry from his inner pocket, Draco parted from Severus' side with a silent nod and stepped up to seat himself next to Jeremy Stretton, fourth in from the end, almost dead-center. On his right, sat Anthony Goldstein.

One by one, the aspirants took their places… until only the end seat remained unoccupied, and his half-brother, Theodore, persisted as the sole unaccounted-for competitor.

**X~~~~~X**

_**Diagon Alley - London, England**_

_**July 1, 1815 (Saturday mid-afternoon – minutes later)**_

Aurora left Hermione at three o'clock to open the doors to the Grand Ballroom to allow the seating to commence. Voices flowed through the door and began streaming into the room, filling it rather quickly with a cacophony of excited conversation.

Gripping her hand-tied bouquet tightly, Hermione's body began unwittingly trembling. So close! All these months, and they were mere minutes away from the end…

Ginevra, bless her soul, cast a Cooling Charm upon her to keep her from perspiring, and her two friends sat next to her, offering her joking commentary in low voices to keep her mind off of her anxiousness.

An eternity later, there was a banging of a gavel upon wood, and silence descending upon the room. A man's booming voice rang out.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, Witches and Wizards, it is my utmost honor to bring to you _La Cerise's_ Virginity Auction this fine July afternoon. Before we begin, I will go through the rules, so we are all of an accord as to what will transpire here in a few moments…"

The auctioneer began reading off the policies and convention of the event, but Hermione heard none of it, her heart thumping too wildly in her ears, her palms and brow warm despite the Charm.

This was it… Her destiny had finally come!

**X~~~~~X**

_**Diagon Alley - London, England**_

_**July 1, 1815 (Saturday mid-afternoon – minutes later)**_

Draco held his bidding paddle with a loose grip, affecting a cool nonchalance, concentrating on calming his heart's paces. From his peripheral vision, he watched Gold fidget in his chair, his grip on his own paddle white-knuckled. Clearly, the man was serious about winning The Princess for a trophy.

Inside his great coat's breast pocket rested his final gift for his beloved. He wanted to wait until they were in private to present it to her properly, but if it should come to it, he would utilize it to wipe away the competition entirely.

Unconcerned, knowing his win was assured, he waited patiently, his legs crossed casually, his demeanor as still and coolly-unaffected as could be outwardly conveyed, and listened to the auctioneer ramble off the rules, paying particular attention to the issues of bidding and how that would be conducted so he performed correctly when the time was right.

Tiresome minutes later, the auctioneer set aside the parchment as he finished off the final admonitions, and banged his gavel again to call the auction officially to order. "Now the moment you have all been waiting for," he announced with flair. "On behalf of the management of _La Cerise_, it is my supreme honor to present to you the beauty of the hour, the goddess of your hearts… The Princess."

When she stepped out from behind the curtain and onto the stage, a murmuring admiration was heard around the chamber. Dressed in a long, white gown, carrying a scarlet bouquet adorned with satiny white ribbon, she was the palpable embodiment of the chaste goddess, Hestia.

"_A queenly maid… amongst all mortal men, she is chief of the goddesses_," Jer murmured the homage from Homer, as if plucking the thought directly from every attending man's mind.

His heart pounding at the very sight of her, Draco tried to retain his composure, forcing his emotions back, restraining his natural impulse to leap to his feet, charge up the stage and then throw himself at hers.

Accompanied by _Madame_ Sinistra, his lovely was brought around the stage and down the stairs to walk before her men, allowing them a final close-up of their auction prize. As she passed him, the scent of her perfume – a summer's light, refreshing garland of fruit and roses – clung to the roof of his mouth, inflaming his senses, and he threw a quick 'thank you' to Merlin for having had the forethought of purchasing a long-hemmed coat, as it hid his unexpected erection.

Making her way gracefully back up the stairs to seat herself in the throne prepared at center-stage for her, Aurora quickly assured her charge's dress flowed beautifully about her before curtsying to the audience and exiting stage left, leaving her ward to face down the wolves and serpents with only the strength of her courage and dignity to hold her chin up. As he'd suspected she might, she braved the scrutiny magnificently, her gaze sweeping the room almost imperiously, and then moving over every bidder slowly, a small smile gracing her perfectly-rouged mouth.

When this afternoon's formalities were completed, he was going to kiss those lips until they were swollen and wantonly begging him for more.

The gavel banged once more. "Per House requirements, the bidding shall commence at the set price of 25,000 galleons. Bidding shall continue at 25,000 galleon increments until there are no challengers to the last bid placed. With that in mind, gentlemen…" He turned his attention to the front row. "Do I hear 25,000 galleons?"

Every paddle rose. The auctioneer selected the first he'd seen, pointing to Draco directly. "25,000 galleons have been established by _Monsieur_ Dragon as the initial price. The bidding begins in earnest now. Do I hear 50,000 galleons in challenge?"

Draco kept his paddle down, his eyes glued to his lovely. It was a race at the beginning to place the opening bid, as tradition held that the man to do so would be the successor. Now, it was simply a matter of sitting back and waiting, raising his paddle only when it seemed there was a pause in the bidding, jeopardizing his status as top hound.

"50,000 galleons to _Monsieur _Gold, do I hear 75,000 galleons?"

And so it went for the next five minutes, with the price rising steadily until it hit the 500,000 galleon mark – the highest anyone had ever paid for a courtesan at auction.

Draco broke that record by raising his paddle.

"525,000 galleons from _Monsieur_ Dragon. Do I hear 550,000?"

"That about does it for me," Bootsey rather dramatically sighed aloud in resignation. "Sorry, darling," he gave The Princess a sweet smile, and sat back in his chair to relax and watch the show. She blew him a playful kiss, which he faked catching and holding to his heart, sighing heavily in disappointment.

It was a good show for all, and only inflamed the competition.

"525,000 was the last bid by _Monsieur_ Dragon," the auctioneer reminded them all, allowing the interruption to occur (upon Aurora's pre-arranged instructions, no doubt). "Do I have a raise of 25,000 more on that amount?"

"Raise," Wolf stated, holding up his paddle.

"Met and raised by _Monsieur_ Wolf. The price is now 550,000 gallons," the man behind the podium informed them gaily. "Do I hear 575,000?"

And the auction continued thusly.

At 600,000 galleons, Argonaut dropped his paddle for good.

At 700,000 galleons, Vivi followed.

When the submission reached three-quarters of a million galleons, Scots apologetically bowed out.

At 850,000 galleons, Jer turned to him and wished him the best, excusing himself from further bidding.

That left himself, Gold and Wolf. From that point, the sell-off became a fierce fight between the three men.

"One million," Gold offered aloud, skipping over the 950,000 mark to hit the big-time without further ado. The crowd collectively gasped. Never had such a bid been made in the history of any auction anywhere.

"Two million," Draco countered immediately.

The assembly was becoming restless, their sighs of amazement loud in the high-ceilinged room.

"Three million," Wolf dared.

The multitude practically roared in astonishment. The auctioneer banged his gavel hard to call things back into regulation. "See here!" the man chastised with a stern glance into the throng. "We must have order. I ask the audience to please restrain its natural impulses, as it makes it difficult to hear the bidding." He cleared his throat. "Now, I believe the last bid was made by _Monsieur _Wolf in the amount of three million galleons. Do I have three million and twenty-five galleons?"

Draco was becoming impatient. "Five million."

There was a moment's pause, and despite their requirement to remain silent, the gathering of spectators murmured in awe at such an inflated price. Clearly, they had no idea how much Draco was willing to sacrifice…

Gold turned to him and then to Wolf, and with a deep sigh, he set his paddle aside. "Thank you for this opportunity, _Cherie_," he bowed low at the neck. "But it seems you and I were not meant to be." As she had with the others who had quit, his Princess returned the bow with one of her own and smiled in understanding.

Draco turned to his right to stare down "Mister Wolf" in silence. There glimmered amusement in the redhead's eyes. "How much is such a thing of beauty truly worth to you, _Monsieur_?" William Weasley inquired loud enough for the whole room to hear. "How far will you go for love?"

Without flinching, Draco made his intentions known to all. "For _this_ love… all the way."

A moment more was spent in quiet assessment. "Prove it," The Wolf challenged loudly and then turned back to the auctioneer. "Ten million."

Even The Princess' jaw opened wide and she stood up, dropping her bouquet onto her chair, clasping her hands before her in incredulous alarm. Her concerned gaze moved to Draco's, and it was clear what she was appealing to him across the distance.

With a smile of reassurance, he reached into the seam of his coat, finding the hidden, inner pocket, and brought the charade to an end.

**X~~~~~X**

Hermione's heart slammed under her ribs.

Ten million galleons! How could her Dragon afford to best such a bid? It seemed impossible.

_Oh, please_, she begged him across the space. _Do not give me up! I know it is much to ask, but please… I will give it all back somehow, I promise._

His gentle smile offered her some encouragement as he made his feet, reaching into his front jacket pocket and withdrawing something small, palming it. He looked at her sincerely. "I lay my cards a-table, and bet it all. I bid every galleon, sickle and knut in my personal Gringotts vault." Bending to one knee, he held up a rather beautiful, sparkling diamond ring. "I further offer you my name and my protection with a proposal of marriage, and a promise that I will love you devotedly and true until I draw my last breath. All I am, all I ever will be is yours, my lovely Princess, no matter the outcome of tonight."

There was a silence such as had not been known since the Universe was new, and every breath in the room held poised on the brink for a decision.

Tears poured down Hermione's cheeks in rivulets, but she gave absolutely no thought to her ruined face paint, nor her soiled mask. "My Dragon…" she murmured, trembling violently, aching to go to him, but rooted to the spot by circumstance. If she moved, she invalidated him officially from the contest.

In her eyes, though, she tried to convey her answer to his tenderly-proffered proposal. _Yes. A thousand times, yes!_

**X~~~~~X**

The auctioneer, sweat dripping from his graying brow, cleared his throat. The rules of this game still had to play out, and all knew it. "Although that is possibly the most grand gesture I have ever heard in all my years performing this duty, _Monsieur_," the man behind the podium stated, "I am, honestly, quite unsure as to how to declare such a value within the frame of this auction's standards."

Draco's personal representative from Gringotts stepped forward, holding aloft an accounting book. He threw Draco an exasperated look as he opened it and began to read aloud. "I can answer to the actual placed bid," the goblin declared, opening the book. "As to the sum of _Monsieur's _personal vault, the net worth held in Gringotts' personal keeping comes to fifty million, four hundred and eight thousand and fifteen galleons, seven sickles and two knuts." He looked at Draco askance. "The interest of which currently accrues at one-point-two percent per month, hence the loose coin." He wiped a long, fingered hand over his long, bald forehead. "As to the other things, I leave the determination of its perceived worth to you, _Mademoiselle_."

His task complete, the goblin bowed to The Princess, then to him, and meandered back towards his vacant chair in the audience without another word.

Turning to Weasley, Draco reached his full height again. There remained that moment of uncertainty as he stared down his best rival. Did the Curse-Breaker –a wealthy entrepreneur in his own right - have enough cash to top such an outrageous offering? Would he dare try?

Wolf settled the matter rather decisively by reaching behind him and pulling the ribbon on his mask, removing it from his person, showing his true face to the House – and automatically disqualifying himself from the auction. The ginger-haired rake was grinning like a sly fox, however, undaunted by his disbarment. "The sacrifices one makes to acquire a lady's true love should be bold and boundless, _Monsieur_, for she is worth every endeavor - _every exertion_ - that her man's heart can possibly bestow. No price is too high, no debt too much to bear for such a wondrous thing as her heart. I trust I have managed to impress this point upon you fully with my challenge?" He turned to The Princess, his smile widening. "It has been my honor, great lady. I wish you much joy."

Setting his mask down upon his empty chair, William Weasley left the bidding area entirely to the sounds of awed whispers from the congress, marching determinedly into the audience. He stopped at the first row in to stand before a willowy blonde wearing a black, feathered mask who was sitting on the end, next to Potter. Holding a black-gloved hand out to her, the handsome rogue grinned mischievously down at the bonny lass. "You denied me the honor last night for propriety's sake, but now I think I will require that dance from you, my pretty Parisian flower."

As if compelled by an outside force, the slender blonde shyly lifted her hand and wrapped long, thin fingers around Weasley's own… and was summarily urged onto her feet and into his embrace by his insistent tug. "Yes, in my arms is _definitely_ where you belong," he growled heatedly, capturing her lips in a fierce kiss.

In a crack of Apparition, the two were instantly gone.

There was a moment more of stunned silence and then the auctioneer cleared his throat once again. "Well," he stammered, trying to regain composure. "It would seem that the last bid of…" He looked down at Draco. "Oh, Merlin's beard! Do any of the remaining bidders wish to counter _Monsieur_ Dragon's rather exorbitant offer? Going, once. Going, twice." He banged his gavel hard onto the podium's wooden surface. "Winner – _Monsieur_ Dragon, in the amount of… well, his entire fortune and apparently, his last name, as well. Congratulations, man!"

The room exploded in applause and cheers as the throng was _finally_ allowed to cut loose (there were even a few loudly-encouraging whistles).

The ordeal at an end, The Princess threw herself down the stairs and into Draco's arms. Lifting her effortlessly, twirling her about, he gave her their first public kiss without a moment's delay.

That unique magical connection that had existed between them from the start sparked at their embrace, blooming into a warm, golden light as their lips met, bathing them visibly in its enchantment, announcing to all in attendance that abiding love had once more been permanently matched within the halls of _La Cerise_.

**X~~~~~X**

_**Theodore Nott's Townhouse - London, England**_

_**July 1, 1815 (Saturday mid-afternoon – minutes later)**_

As he'd suspected, his grandson's new wife had tried to make a break for it when he'd released her momentarily to use the facilities an hour before. The woman was terrified of what would be discovered once the spell upon her was cast, and this was enough to enrage Theodore. Their fight had been on-going ever since, getting progressively louder and more vitriolic. Truthfully, Abraxas considered casting a Silencing spell upon the both of them, but the sadistic side of him found the colorful insults to be rather charmingly amusing.

"You pig-headed son of a whore," Astoria spat at her husband. "You didn't even come to me for the first time until this week! What else was I to do once your brother had tossed me over? I had bills to meet. I _had_ to take on other clients."

Theodore sneered viciously. "And you _conveniently_ forgot to cast the Contraceptive Charm upon yourself with every customer you took to your bed during the last month? Do I seem that gullible to you, Astoria?"

Her leg jerked, as if she wanted to kick him, but the secondary _Incarcerous_ kept her firmly in chains, unable to do little more than squirm futilely. Abraxas thought the look quite fetching on her, honestly, and considered suggesting to his grandson to keep his wench in such a way permanently, should he decide to keep her after all was said and done today.

"Bloody bastard!" she snarled. "If I didn't pay the _Madame_, I would have been turned out. I had nowhere to go! I am alone in the world, now that my sister has married well. You don't understand what it's like to have nothing. You've always been pampered, kept well…" Here she threw a look of loathing at Abraxas. "You have no idea what it's like to be afraid of being thrown into the streets like a dog. I did what I had to so I could survive."

Her husband turned his head away, refusing to look at her. "So you planned to get yourself up the duff with a child – any man would do - so you could attempt to force them to buy out your contract? Tell me, did you even have a preference for which man it would be, or were you that unconcerned so long as his purse was temporarily full?"

Shaking in fury, she cruelly dumped quite a horrid little truth upon the boy's head. "Actually, I'd had the plan of using Phil's lust potion on your brother before you ever came into the picture. The only thing you afforded me was the chance to stab that self-prigging bitch Princess in the eyes at the same time."

Theo turned to face his bride, his face a mask of cold hatred. "You used me, too, then? Why am I not surprised?"

"You are _such_ a hypocrite, Theo!" she shouted. "You used me in _every _way you could to get back at your brother… at _him!_" She jerked her head over at Abraxas, who sat calmly in much the same position for the last hour, waiting for the five o'clock chime to ring so they could conclude this game. "You claimed to be enamored of me and yet I wonder now if everything you haven't said to me from the start wasn't a calculated lie to reel me in for your purposes of personal revenge against the Malfoys. Your words and actions all seem, in retrospect, to be nothing more than a lovely deceit to make me fall in lo…" She stopped very abruptly, clamping her jaws shut.

"To make you _what?_" her husband hissed. When Astoria would not speak again, he shouted the query louder, as if he could frighten her into revealing the truth, but Abraxas knew from spying the deadened look in her eye that she had shut that part of herself down and would not be revealing any more private thoughts on the matter.

They were quite a moment longer, the sound of her sniffling the only noise in the room.

"I hate you," she whispered to Theo, finally breaking the silence.

He barked a mad laugh. "Yes, well: _ich liebe dich, meine Frau._"

She cried then, finally giving into the tears that had been threatening to release all day. It had only taken the bitch close to ten hours in a captive situation to succumb to such an emotion. Abraxas had to give her respect for holding out this long, as he honestly hadn't thought she'd had it in her to be so self-righteously angry for more than an hour at most. "Liar," she sobbed. "You are _such_ a liar, Theo. Men don't know _how_ to love. They only know how to conquer."

His grandson was quiet in contemplation of that for a few minutes. "Who turned you into such a hater of my gender in the first instance?"

With despair clearly etched into every crevice of her beautiful features, his granddaughter-in-law looked over at Abraxas. "Is it time yet? I want this over."

Her timing could not have been more perfect; the bell rang out five times announcing the hour from the clock above the bedroom's mantle. Abraxas uncrossed his legs and made his feet, crossing from the chair he'd conjured for himself that morning back to the bed, where his captives lay bound. "As a matter of a fact, my dear, it is." Placing his wand tip at her belly, he cast the spell to confirm contraception.

A pink glow bathed the area.

"It seems you are definitely pregnant," he told her in a matter-of-fact tone. "Now as to the father…"

He spoke the words to the spell to require paternity. It took a moment, before blue letters began appearing in the air above her head. It was clear by the first initial the father to be named.

"Congratulations," he offered his grandson, "you get to keep your wife alive a while longer."

Turning his attentions, he stared into those pretty, blue eyes of the white-haired Queen of Babylon seated upon her bed, and felt apathy towards her tears, which increased in intensity and sound as soon as Theodore had been revealed to be the father of her child. True, this young woman's upbringing had been horrid, and she'd been cruelly abused at the hands of her own father… but so had Abraxas, and in much a similar fashion. But, as he was just beginning to realize in his old age, a person made of their life what they willed, regardless of the accidents, follies, and tragedies of their youth, and it was no one's fault but their own for the mess they made of said life. In the end, there were only your individual triumphs and your regrets; the hope was for the former to be of greater number than the latter.

"Well, a special gift is in order, I think, to commemorate the occasion," he declared with facetious happiness at the thought of living long enough to become a great-grandfather for the first time. "I shall open a trust fund in Gringotts for the child, under your and my grandson's care, my dear. You will use any monies I deposit into this account for the child's necessities only – not your own. It shall be his only inheritance from me, so spend it wisely."

Dismissing the jezebel, he looked at Theodore. "As for you… your brother would like to talk with you, Monday at eleven o'clock for brunch at his Manor House. I believe you know where it is already." There was no need to reopen the issue of the young man's failed ruse earlier this past week, for they both knew that only Theodore – being of Malfoy blood - could have passed the wards around the property to dump his unconscious brother back in his bed in the end.

His grandson snarled a hateful curse at the idea, and Abraxas slapped him hard, turning his head with the force of the blow. "Draco has done no harm to you, boy. Your hatred belongs to me alone, so heap it upon my shoulders, if you wish," the former Death Eater warned him. "But know that I have _never_ denied you your heritage – and much to my surprise, neither it seems will Draco. In fact, he appears to wish an accord between you, and to make amends for the wrongs done by his ignorance of the situation – an ignorance _I _kept him in until just this morning, before coming here. He knew nothing of your relation or of the sins of his father until recently." He sighed, feeling rather weary of his years of machinations, and all it had cost him. "Your brother is as alone in this world without much of a family as you, and it has long been apparent to me that he has always longed for a sibling. I believe he might be willing to forgive you and your wench's trespasses against him in favor of brokering peace and a new understanding towards such a relationship. He is, after all, a much better man than either of us, deep down." He pointed a menacing finger in Theodore's face. "It would do you well to consider his offer, as he is most generous and affable, and _you_ could certainly use his brand of friendship."

Heading for the door, he paused in the open portal to glance back at the couple a final time. "Know this, however, the both of you: cross swords in such a vicious manner as you have again with Draco or his lady mistress, and regardless of our relation, boy, I will kill you and your strumpet without losing sleep over the matter. You may believe me in that."

The oak-paneled door clicked shut behind him gently as he Apparated away, returning to his townhouse.

Abraxas spent the remainder of the day drinking heavily and alone, staring at the unmoving portrait of his only, beloved son, Lucius, the weight of his life's remorse bringing him to tears for the first time in long years.

**X~~~~~X**

_**Theodore Nott's Townhouse - London, England**_

_**July 1, 1815 (Saturday mid-afternoon – seconds later)**_

Abraxas Malfoy's spell was released right as there was the crack of thunder that announced his Apparition away. Theodore jumped up from the bed immediately, and paced to the window, looking out on the street at the pedestrians, trying to wrap his mind around everything he'd learned over the course of the past day.

Behind him, his wife was sobbing into her pillow, her tears tugging at the heart of him.

"Tell me the truth, Astoria: do you even want me?" he asked coldly, angry at himself for getting caught up for years in this woman's web of deceit. His infatuation with her had driven him insane from the first moment he'd seen her step-up to the Sorting Hat at school, and it was her loss to his half-brother's affections eleven months ago that had tipped him over the edge of reason.

After having read his mother's diary last summer, he'd come to understand just how much he'd truly lost because of the Malfoys, but at that time, he'd been willing to let it go so long as they didn't interfere in his life ever again. However, to lose his darling Astoria to _him _– the brother who had taken all of their father's love for himself, too.

Her enthrallment by Draco had been absolutely unendurable and intolerable to Theo, who had waited years for the witch to grow up so that they might find each other again. Back in school, he'd been willing to overlook her fancy for the blond wizard, believing it to be no more than a young girl's whim (especially as Malfoy had been riding Toria's elder sister, Daphne, at the time), but for the incident to repeat here at _La Cerise_, for her feelings to grow into something more than just a simple fascination with his brother as an adult, and for the man to then claim Astoria as his exclusive property… That had been the catalyst for setting Theo's green-eyed monster loose. He'd made the vow in his heart after that to destroy his father's family for all they'd done to interfere in and ruin his life.

But now… "Answer me," he demanded. "Do you still want me, wife?"

"Do you want _me_?" she screeched in retort, whipping her head up and around to glare ferociously at him. Tears streaked her reddened cheeks. "Or did you use me all along, Theo, as _every _man I've ever known has done?" She hiccupped a sob even as she sneered hatefully at him. "Don't bother to answer. I already know the truth. You're all the same, your despicable gender: brutal and cruel. Women are nothing but pretty ornaments, accessories to your successes and your needs, to be dressed up in finery so as to socially raise your reputations in public, while in private, taking from us whatever physical pleasure you can derive. And no act is too depraved – not slamming your cocks down our throats, or reaming our ane, or whipping us until we bleed and beg for you to stop, or sharing us with your friends against our will! The rape of all women by your sex begins when we're children and it _never_ stops!" She'd worked herself up into a fine frenzy, her eyes unfocused and horrified now, turned inward in memory. "You shove our baby doll faces into the mattress, and you tell us not to scream as you violate every hole in our body again and again, and you slap us when we cry and tell us to clean up afterwards before our mother – _your wife!_ - finds us out… And you do it at every opportunity that presents itself, defiling us, destroying us…" She shut her eyes in agonized pain and cried, dropping her face into her hands, her thin shoulders shaking violently. "I despise all men! I CURSE YOU ALL!"

Theo's chest squeezed tight. "Rape… a child?" He crossed to his goddess quickly, and knelt at her feet, gently pulling her hands away. "Wife, look at me." She fought him, hiding her visage behind a curtain of long, white hair. "Astoria, look at me, _please_," he gentled his tone.

It took several more minutes before those captivating blue eyes met his, and in their sorrowful depths, he found the truth he'd suspected from her words: his Astoria had been a childhood victim to her father's sexual abuse. It explained so very much.

Every emotional wall he'd so carefully constructed for so many years crumbled away in that moment.

"I love you," he murmured to her sincerely, discarding all well-trained pretense. "I have from the moment you stepped through the double doors of the Great Hall at Hogwarts, and were declared Slytherin's Princess – _my_ Princess." He gently cupped her cheek. "I watched you from afar as you matured over the years, and I wished fervently that you would look at me as you did so many other boys. That night in the empty dormitory room, I could no longer resist you. I needed to capture your touch and your kiss. I needed your beautiful body to writhe underneath mine just once before I graduated and was taken from your side." Leaning up and forward, he bent her back into the bed as he leaned over her. "I did not fully admit it to myself until yesterday when I slipped this ring onto your finger," he touched the diamond and amethyst wedding band on her left hand (the flower-shaped ring he'd picked out last year after in honor of her alias – Aster - right after she'd made her bow at _La Cerise_), "but I have loved you for nine years, unrelenting, Astoria, and I would love you for ninety more, if you would but let me."

Bracing his weight on the palms of his hands, he slid one knee between her thighs and let it caress her mound. "Yes, I want _this_ from you," he admitted, dipping his head to capture her lips with a soft kiss. "You _know_ without question that I crave your body's touch, but I need you to understand my intentions: I want _all _of you – every part, not just your sex. From your delectable body, to your wicked mind, to your fearless heart, I wish to claim it all as mine again and again until we are too old and infirm for such pursuits." He rubbed his cheek against hers. "Will you let me have you in this manner?"

She pushed against his shoulders, forcing him back so they could look upon each other. Caution, wariness reflected in the depths of her assessing, sapphire stare. "And what would you give me in return for all that you ask from me?" she required of him.

How delightfully Slytherin of her to bargain with him in such a manner; he loved her all the more for such wily ways! Grasping her fingers, he placed her hand over his heart. "Every part of me – _my_ delectable body, _my_ wicked mind, _my_ fearless heart. They are yours for the asking."

Wiping her tears away with her free hand, a slow smirk crawled up her cheek. "Think you have a delectable body?"

His smile mimicked hers. "I'd be happy to demonstrate for you, if you have need of convincing."

Wiggling against his knee, he found her unmentionables to be quite damp with arousal. "Whoever said arrogance was overrated obviously hadn't met you," she teased. "I believe I will take back what I said earlier. I don't despise _all _men."

Losing his amusement in an instant, Theo stared at her sincerely. "Could you ever come to love me, though? Tell me true, Toria, before you have your way with me and seduce me until I'm mindless once more."

Shaky fingers tickled his cheek as they passed feather-light caresses over his features. She took a deep breath and let it out slow. "I did not lie to you that night so long ago. You _had_ taken my heart then. Something about you called to me, there in the darkness. We fit so perfectly together… But then you were gone. I searched for you after. I thought, well, the aura you and your brother share - no matter how it pains you to hear this - you are similar in magical spirit. Until your lips touched mine this last week, I believed my mysterious lover had been him." Her brows narrowed in consternation. "I'm... sorry... that I did not recognize you sooner."

Theo's heart flipped in his chest as he realized the truth: all these years he had discreetly hungered for her, she had secretly longed for him, too. Nuzzling his nose against his lover, he brought their lips into alignment. "Say it. Tell me the words that I have waited _so long_ to hear from you."

Wending the hand on his cheek through his dark hair, his wife let out a shuddering sigh of surrender. "I love you, my Theo. You are the _only_ man I have ever loved."

Swallowing the lump of emotion in his throat, Theodore Nott kissed his bride as a groom was always meant to – sweetly, reverently – and for the moment, let everything else in the cosmos fade away.

X~~~~~X

_**Diagon Alley - London, England**_

_**July 1, 1815 (Saturday mid-afternoon – at the same moment)**_

His kiss tasted like ambrosial fire, succulent, intoxicating, and the need conveyed by his lips was wild, rash. The magic of their Fate twined them together, surrounding and penetrated them, warmly flowing through their auras and extending out into the crowd in a rolling wave of delightful feeling. A gasp of awe filled the room.

"Finally," he whispered as they pulled apart for air. "We're free."

Hermione's heart soared, as her fingers gripped the lapels of his velvet green great coat and held on tight. "Take me away with you now."

Aurora's low chuckle interrupted the fantasy. "Young love – it is the most reckless thing in the entire world. Do you forget so soon, _Monsieur_? There is still the trifling matter of payment."

Her Dragon smiled expressively. "So eager for your cut, Great Mother of Elysium?"

"_Oui,_ all twelve million, six-hundred and two thousand!" the Abbess precisely declared. "I will allow you to keep your miniscule change, although I believe the House Owner might expect a cut of even that small a pittance when he takes his twenty-five percent of the take. He _is_ the miserly-type, you know." Acquiring Hermione's hand, she smoothly drew her away from her suitor. "You may have your prize back, _Monsieur_, once she is properly awarded her portion as well – all twenty five million, two hundred and four thousand of it."

"And a wedding proposal," Hermione blurted.

Both of her companions heartily laughed at her audacity.

"Indeed," her beloved agreed. "Shall we dispense with the provisions of our contracts quickly, then?" he asked, waving his hand for them to lead the way in a courtly manner. "I am eager to bestow upon her delicate hand a proper ring. I would cherish my lovely lady as she so rightly deserves."

"Don't you mean 'ravish'?" Aurora teased in a low tone, snickering.

Smoky-silver eyes met Hermione's, and at their silent, passionate appeal, her heart fluttered.

"Indeed," her Dragon affirmed, placing a guiding hand on the sway of her back. "Thoroughly, all the night long."

Heat settling in the well of her belly, aware of his every touch and breath, and of the heat of his body against her side, Hermione allowed her _amoreaux_ to guide her into the shelter of the sitting area behind the curtain where the final requirements to her contract with _La Cerise_ would be met.

_Yes, mon Coeur, _she thought with a beaming smile, _we are free to love at last!_

_

* * *

_

_**TO BE CONTINUED…**_

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**_

**AUTHOR'S NOTES:**

**Elphinstone's**** on Regent Street = An actual confectioner/baker in London during the Regency & Victorian eras, known best for serving fine French pastries.**

**Bergamot = During the Victorian Era, this was a scent often attributed to men who were deemed too effeminate; a good-natured jibe was to question a man's scent as being too-closely related to that of fruit (which is what bergamot derives from). Funny enough, it was good for a man to smell like lavender during the Victorian days, and roses during the Napoleonic age (late Regency time-frame). Today, this is completely backwards in cosmetic fashion, as bergamot is often to be found in men's expensive cologne fragrances, but lavender and roses are primarily attributed to women's scents.**

**Sotheby's – An auction house established in 1744 in London. It is the world's fourth oldest auction house still in operation.**

**Fondant icing – No one knows when it was officially invented, nor by whom. It appeared in French recipe books as early as 1770, however. Prior to that, sugar was horrendously expensive and in short supply, so it wasn't a major part of culinary life until the 18th century. In any case, for the auction event, it would definitely have been a way for Aurora to show off ****La Cerise's**** wealth and to launch this important event perfectly to be able to give-out miniature fondant cakes to every guest (expensive though it would have been).**

**"****Adieu, Merci"**** ("Goodbye, Thank you") present = There was a custom in France from the 18th-early 19th century amongst the socially elite (the economically advantaged/the bourgeoisie) that when a guest visited your home and stayed (usually for several days, sometimes up to a month or more at a time during the winter months, when travel was precarious), they present their host with a "Greetings, Thank you" present. This was the proper way for a guest to thank a host for the effort they were anticipated to extend upon them during their stay. The amount and type of gift was reflective of the giver's feelings, as well as based loosely on an estimation of how much effort the host would be spending (the longer the stay, and the more the host would have to do and spend on extra food and such, and so the grander the host tends to be; therefore, the gift's expense would reflect that kind sacrifice and show the proper appreciation). At the end of a stay, a host would usually then give their visitor an "Adieu, Merci" ("Goodbye, Thank you") present back. This gift would reflect the host's feelings about the visit and the visitor (if a visitor behaved well, it was always an amicable gift; if there was poor behavior by the guest, the host might give something less desirable). Traditionally, these gifts would take the form of culinary delights (i.e. a bottle of expensive brandy, a basket full of cheeses and fruit or cakes/pastries). Hence the tradition many Europeans (and from what I understand, Americans) share of bringing something to a dinner party, like a bottle of wine. In England, depending upon your social and economic class, sometimes the "Adieu, Merci" gift is still given by a host, although it's fallen out of favor over the last century (although the "Greetings, Thank you" gift still seems to be traditional). **

**M****a petite**** = French for "my little one" (feminine form).**

**Nattering = Regency era/Victorian era slang for "talking and gossiping aimlessly."**

**Tipped the velvet = Regency era/Victorian era slang for "to tongue a woman's vagina/muff."**

**R****ouge cerise**** = French for "red cherry" – slang to refer to virginity.**

**"****A queenly maid… amongst all mortal men, she is chief of the goddesses****…" = The ancient Greek poet, Homer's reference to Hestia, the virgin goddess of the hearth, in the Hymn he composed for her during the 7th century B.C.**

**"****Yes. A thousand times, yes!" ****= One of my favorite quotes from the 2005 remake of "Pride and Prejudice" (movie). My homage.**

**Ich liebe dich, meine Frau**** = German for "I love you, my wife."**

**Mon**** Coeur**** = French for "my Heart" (endearment).**


	13. Ch 12: Unmasking One's Destiny

_**CHAPTER TWELVE: UNMASKING ONE'S DESTINY**_

_**Diagon Alley - London, England**_

_**July 1, 1815 (Saturday late afternoon-evening)**_

After taking a private moment behind the curtain to refresh herself (Aurora's wand cleaned up the tears from her face, and they readjusted her mask as appropriate), Hermione and her winning bidder settled the matter of the transfer of monies for her final auction price with a series of easy signatures, overseen and notarized by the Gringotts goblins in attendance. She was then able to close out all accounts due to _La Cerise_ (including paying for her room and board, private lessons and accessories required by the auction, as well as Aurora's private cut), and finalize the termination of her contract with the House, effective tomorrow at three, when she would officially move out.

The issue of purchasing out her marriage agreement with the Potters was discussed with Harry then, and it was her Dragon who realized (with a quick perusal of the contract, which Harry furnished from an inside coat pocket), that its termination required the transfer of the dowry amount (plus one extra galleon for good measure) to be in person. It was therefore decided that she would commit to breaking the bond (with bank draft in hand, in the total amount due – 100,001 galleons) on Monday afternoon as she and her best childhood friend attended both sets of parents at the Potters' home for high tea. There was a verbal agreement between them, however (witnessed by Aurora and her Dragon, and shook on in the manner of a business transaction), that her engagement to Harry James Potter was formally dissolved as of that moment, much to everyone's relief.

That done, Harry kissed her formally goodbye on the cheek, wishing her much happiness and promising to arrange all of the details for their meeting on Monday. He even, much to Hermione's great pleasure, acknowledged the man who had won her affections by reaching out a hand, congratulating him. It was clear from the exchange that Harry was wary of her Dragon, and he of her former fiancée (the reason of which she was still unclear about, but was determined to find out at a later date), but it was a progressive step in the right direction, as far as she was concerned.

The goblins and Harry took their leave of the couple then, and the moment Hermione had been waiting for was finally upon them: Aurora made their formal introductions.

"My Princess, it gives me the greatest pleasure to reveal to you the identity of your winning bidder," the House Mother waved to the Dragon, who was reaching up to remove his mask. "_Monsieur_ Dragon is none other than The Right Honorable, Draco Malfoy, heir to the Barony of Swindon."

The black mask with the silver tear dropped away…

Hermione's heart stuck in her throat. He was _strikingly_ handsome, with perfectly aligned features, a strong jaw and brow, tempting lips lined by a very light gold stubble, all set in a fine, aristocratic mold. His eyes, always a bit shadowed by the mask, were now revealed to be a magnificent shade of arctic grey; they fairly sparkled as he brushed his long, platinum bangs aside. And those lashes – golden, thick fringe that framed expressive depths. _Monsieur_ Malfoy was the epitome of the Renaissance man.

His lips twitched in amusement at her reaction. "Am I so different to you now that a title is involved?" he asked, bowing politely and taking her hand to his mouth to place a reverent kiss to the tips.

Unaccustomed to the swell of emotion building within her breast, she blurted the first thought that came to mind. "You're so _handsome!_"

His chuckle was low, sensual. "Ah, so it is my physical mien that has your tongue in a knot, not the Barony."

She blinked, her random thoughts tumbling from her lips without censor. "Your given name… the Dragon constellation. It was so obvious, a child should have guessed!"

He and Aurora shared an amused grin. "It seems she is still processing."

Madame Sinistra nodded. "Yes, but perhaps it is _you_ who should prepare yourself best, my Lord, when I tell you whose hand you are now so fondly, casually caressing." She turned a mysterious smile on Hermione, her eyes positively gleaming with mischief. "My dear, before our contract was secured months back, I took the liberty of having your lineage traced, as your wizarding blood status was clearly deficient for the rules of this House, and I was required by the demands of my position to devise a reason for allowing you entrance to _La Cerise's_ rolls."

"Deficient?" Draco asked, stepping closer, protectively. "In what way could such a marvelous woman be found wanting?"

"To be blunt, _Monsieur_, The Princess is not of pureblood stock," the Abbess explained. "She is, in fact, Muggle-born."

There was the slightest stiffening in her suitor's shoulders and in his grip upon her hand that had Hermione slightly concerned. "I see," he carefully stated, seemed to consider the situation but a second more, and then markedly relaxed. "It comes as a shock, yes, but makes no difference to me overall." He looked down upon her, his face set with determination. "I will have you for wife, if you will, my lovely. You are all I have ever wished for in a woman."

Swallowing her relief, Hermione gave him a reassuring smile.

"Wonderful," Aurora cheered. "Then, her status amongst royalty will mean very little to you as well, _Monsieur_, and you may enter this arrangement with mutual love and understanding."

Hermione's internal harmony was instantaneously disrupted. "R-royal status? Me?" she asked in disbelief, stammering over the idea like a simpleton. Her patron nodded, her demeanor conveying that she was quite convinced of the fact. "No, no, no. I am sorry to contest such a wonderful fancy, _Madame_," she contended, "but there seems to be a mistake. I am not of such splendid or lofty heritage. My parents are simple, honest tooth chirurgeons living in Surrey."

Aurora shook her head rather decisively. "There is no mistake in this, my dear. My investigative efforts have exposed a truth hidden from you, and your father, and even your father's father: it seems that you are the last surviving descendant of the Archduchess Maria Anna Eleanor Wilhelmina Josepha of Austria and Prince Charles Alexander of Lorraine. Their child, rumored to have been a stillbirth, was, in fact, born healthy and secreted far away - here to England - to keep him safe from Prussian assassins during The War of the Austrian Succession. _You _are the direct descendant of that male heir, hailing from the House of Hapsburg directly, as your great-grandmother was the youngest sister of the Empress Maria Teresa." She turned to Draco and made a deep curtsy to both of them. "Therefore, my Lord, it is my paramount honor to present to you Her Imperial and Royal Highness, Hermione Jean Granger, Archduchess of Austria, Princess of Hungary, Princess of Lorraine, and Governess of the Austrian Netherlands - unrecognized as such, technically, but still her rightful entitlements by birth."

The young Swindon's eyes widened and his jaw literally dropped open as he turned with sincere astonishment to Hermione for confirmation… right in time to catch her as she swooned, falling into unconsciousness like a ridiculous ninny.

**X~~~~~X**

"A mistake…" she murmured, coming out of her faint, her eyelids blinking in confusion. Draco continued to support his witch's weight carefully upon his lap while _Madame_ fanned her charge, hoping the air current would aid in her quicker recovery. "Draco…"

"I'm here, my love," he reassured her, heart palpitating wildly at her use of his given name for the first time, while simultaneously, a chivalrous streak of protectiveness overcame him at the weakness heard in her voice. "I've got you. You're safe. You collapsed but for a moment."

A petite hand slowly reached up and stroked his cheek as she focused upon him. "I knew… I knew you would be beautiful inside and out."

Turning his head, he placed a tender kiss upon her palm, her words making his belly flutter. "Are you better? Do you need water?"

Full consciousness returned the light to those pretty, earthen-colored eyes, and her mouth formed a perfectly-shaped, "Oh!" as the last few minutes flooded back into memory. "Merlin, I've embarrassed myself… and inconvenienced you! Many apologies, my Lord." She struggled to right herself.

Draco held on tighter to keep her from squirming out of his lap, an arrow sharply piercing his chest at her sudden, distant reserve. "Have we reverted to formalities, then, Miss Granger?"

"_Her Ladyship,_" Aurora reminded him with a gentle chastisement. "At the very least."

His Princess shook her head. "Oh, no, no! Please do not call me such!" She shut her eyes and put a hand to her forehead, massaging gently. "Although I am genuinely thankful for all of your efforts in examining my past, _Madame_, I do not believe I am ready to open the discussion of royal entitlements – especially not without my parents present, for they have even greater right to the claims than I. And truthfully, the subject gives me a frightful headache. I would sooner tackle the issue of unraveling the ancient matchmaking spells upon the House before charting my lineage. For now, if you please, I am just 'Hermione.'"

Cradling her to him, Draco reached his free hand around her head and tugged on the ribbon that held her mask in place. "Then, I insist you refer to me as just 'Draco' henceforth. And, seeing as how we are now on familiar footing, my dear, I would see you, face-to-face at last." The bow gave way, and he slipped the butterfly-shaped, velvet fabric off her face, placing it with care upon the settee next to him. Cupping the bottom of her chin, he tilted her up to meet his gaze.

His heart fell out of him. She was _positively_ _breathtaking_, more stunning than his wildest dreams. Her features were delicately romantic and in perfect proportion. He adored her thin brows, how they arched with curiosity, and her sooty, long lashes, and the apples of her cheeks that were rosy with a maidenly blush. He'd always been able to see her lips, but revealed now in conjunction with her eyes and bone structure, they were an ideal compliment, with their pink-red paint and their flawless bow shape – they were, bluntly, enticingly too kissable. Stroking a finger down the side of her jaw, he realized how very lucky he was to have won such a prize, for she was truly more magnificent than any woman he'd ever appreciated. "Beautiful," he proclaimed in an awed whisper. "So, _so _lovely…"

Claiming his lady's lips came naturally to Draco by now. When she met his enticements with equal tenderness, it was as if he had found his home at long last. The magical warmth of their special connection flooded through them both once again, abruptly stirring his loins. Of their own accord, his fingers trailed over her throat, tracing the neckline of her gown, teasing between her cleavage… A polite clearing of the throat from Aurora forced them both to realize that propriety was overtly being breached; such intensity was better left for the bedroom. "Apologies, beloved," he murmured, removing his hand and arranging them so they could regain their feet.

He held onto her a tad longer than was necessary as her tiny feet touched the floor to assure she fully had her balance, and then, reluctantly reaching for both of their masks, he passed hers off and replaced his, watching as she did likewise. There were still a few required, public customs to see to, after all.

She sighed heavily as the fabric covered her up and the ribbon was retied. "A little longer, Prin… Hermione," he reassured her with a quick kiss, offering her his arm. "Then there will never be a need for masks to come between us again."

**X~~~~~X**

The beautiful, hand-crafted fondant tea cakes were a smashing success, Aurora thought with some measure of smugness, as she took in the measure of the room enjoying them. Everyone seemed in goodly spirits, including the losers of the auction, all of whom stood about in conversation. Even Jeremy Stretton – the most reserved and quiet suitor she'd known in all her years in service – was in spirited dialogue with Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger regarding future business opportunities. The champagne flowed freely, and toasts were presented here and there amongst gathered groups. It was a jolly time for all, much to her innate relief.

There was a flash of light, and Pyg appeared at her side in human form. Her fondness for the little Puffskein since their introduction (in this form, that was to say) had grown proportionally, and in such a short amount of time. She wondered if she wasn't being influenced by his magic in some manner… Whatever the reason for her fondness of him, she found herself easily smiling down upon him now. "Would you like some cake?" she offered, directing him to the dessert table. "It contains a layer of chocolate – your favorite flavor, I'm told by your Mistress."

Those sparkling grey eyes lit up. "Oh, yes, please!"

The child eagerly gobbled up the dessert she presented, his hair turning red, then orange. A strange purring could be heard emanating from his chest, and he smiled brilliantly like a cat contentedly fattened on too much cream as he finished off the last crumb on his plate. It was the most adorable thing she'd ever seen and heard, quite honestly. "Thank you, _Madame_," he beamed, as she took his dirties from him and passed them off to a member of the wait staff. "It was delicious!" He threw himself against her and hugged her tight around the middle, his little ear pressed to her tummy. "I _love_ chocolate!"

With a bird-like laugh, she instinctively hugged the little boy to her as if he were her own. He was certainly quite the charmer, wasn't he?

Their cozy moment came to an abrupt end a moment later when he stiffened, his ear pressing tighter into her abdomen, as if he were listening for something within her bowels. "OH!" he moved away quite suddenly, as if astonished by some new discovery about her person, his hair instantly changing color to pink. "Oh." Hesitantly, his little hand moved to touch the spot he'd just been leaning against and he closed his eyes, as if he were magically attempting to feel about her internals like a medi-witch would with a wand. For several long seconds they lingered thus, and in that time, his hair changed color several more times – blue, red, and finally white.

Aurora, curious as to discover what exactly the little creature was doing, remained silent and alert, atypically uncaring of their current surroundings and the social awkwardness she found herself in. Truthfully, she was slightly worried something might be wrong with her health by the way he had reacted, as her own mother had passed quite suddenly upon her forty-second year from a devouring disease of the womb. Was she to be similarly cursed?

When he opened those pretty-lashed eyes again, they were wide, beguiling in their innocence, and his hair changed back to its normal auburn-brunette. "Hmmm… Interesting. This means you're not a virgin," he stated rather knowledgeably.

Several people nearby stopped in their conversation and looked down at the little boy in utter surprise. Aurora could have died on the spot, honestly. Taking his hand off her body, she turned him about and, muttering an apology to her guests, led him to the other side of the long dessert table rather briskly. "_Bébé_," she whispered gently to him, "A person's private health status is never discussed in polite public."

The light of comprehension dawned in those unsophisticated, wintry depths. "This is one of those things Papa explained to me about earlier, isn't it? He said that the things a man and woman do together…" He looked around conspiratorially, and then leaned in and whispered, "…_you know_… is done in private. I take it talking about it is, too?"

Sagely, she nodded. "_Oui_, you are very wise for your lack of life experience, young one."

Hands clasped behind his back, he rocked onto the balls of his feet. "Yes, well... I _am_ learning, _Madame_. Every minute of every day." His enigmatic smile suddenly looked rather grown-up. "Don't worry, my lady, you're as healthy as a… what's the phrase?... a horse. You don't _look_ like one – funny animals, horses - but you definitely are as _healthy_ as one!"

An immense weight lifted from her shoulders and she let out the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. "Thank you, _bébé_, but perhaps one day you will explain to me how you know such things?"

His attention turned to his adoptive parents just then and his smile softened. "Will they, too, go off now and do those private things that men and women in love do?"

Aurora nodded. "Yes, sweetling. It has ever been their destiny."

He was quiet a moment in contemplation, his smile dropping, and a hint of sadness marking his pretty features. "They'll make their own, real _bébé_ from this, won't they?"

Smoothing her hands over his velvet blue jacket, she sighed. "Perhaps, but you will always be their first child – their most beloved – for you helped their bond to grow. You further helped them not to give up hope in the light of terrible tragedy. You will forever be in their hearts for such service."

To her surprise, he glanced down at his feet instead of meeting her gaze. "Was that _my_ destiny: to serve them?"

"Perhaps."

"Do you think that I have a… a destiny where I serve myself?" he mumbled the query.

Kneeling down to his height, she cupped his chin and tilted his face to meet hers. "I think, _bébé_, we all live for each other in some small way. It is certainly our destiny as a society for our lives to become devotedly intertwined with others under the auspices of such noble ideals as love and friendship. However, I also believe that every individual person has a great fate to meet and fulfill, if they so choose to seek out such excellence and make it their own."

He looked upon her with desperate hope. "Even me? Even though I'm not a _real_ person?"

"Sweetling, no matter the face you wear, you are as real as any of us. You love, you feel, you dream and think. Never doubt that you are deserving of this life you have been given," she reassured him. Making her full height again, she ruffled his hair affectionately. "You will find your own destiny, little one, should you wish to do so - and I predict it will be a romantic, grand one, indeed, for you are far too precocious for a life of dullness!"

The little creature bit his bottom lip, mulling over her words for half a minute more, and then he nodded. "You're right! I _will_ make my own destiny!" He planted a fist mightily in the palm of his hand to punctuate his resolution. Looking up at her in curiosity a second later, he pointed a single finger up between them to interject his requirement for clarification on a purpose. "Just one question, though, if you please?"

Aurora raised an eyebrow and smiled in amusement at his sudden shifting of mood. Yes, this one was too optimistic and inquisitive to be held down for long. "And what is that, _bébé?_"

"I _need_ to know," he tenaciously inquired, standing on his tiptoes and staring up at her with stormy intensity, "what's 'precocious' mean?"

**X~~~~~X**

Ginny shared her cake with her fiancée, having exchanged her fox-shaped mask in favor of a matching version of her beau's for this event. "Will you speak with her soon?" she hesitantly asked her lover.

Blaise nodded. With the events of the last week, he'd not had time to discuss the purchasing of her contract with the House Madame, but he promised to do so as soon as the auction was finished. "Now, in fact," he assured her with a kiss to the back of her hand. "I'll be back in a flash, darling, so you won't have to spend too _long_ beating the men away."

Leaving her momentarily bereft of his warmth, he hurried to the Abbess' side across the room, nearing the catering table. Pyg, who had been standing near the two, meandered away, seemingly deep in thought, his hands behind his back, head bowed. The poor, little thing looked lost.

Feeling sorry for him, Ginny approached his side and offered to keep his company for the remainder of the night, enticing him with promises of card games and scary storytelling. Yes, it would cut in on her time with her _amoureux_, but in a way, being around a child would be good for Blaise… especially after what she'd just discovered this afternoon.

**X~~~~~X**

The moment had finally arrived for Hermione to say 'goodbye' to the men who had graced her with the gift of their affectionate attentions for the last month. In a ceremony straight out of some archaic Roman tradition, she presented each man a single, ripened pear, wrapped in 24 karat gold leaf and tied at the stem with a real pear blossom – the ancient symbol of eternal friendship (the ones for her absent suitors – _Monsieurs_ Wolf and Knot – were to be delivered by the Madame later, along with a note of gratitude penned by her own hand).

With a prettily prepared speech, she thanked each man, pointing out the attribute that would leave the greatest impression upon her, deeply curtseying to each man in turn as she addressed them.

"To Gold, a man of impeccable mannerisms and astounding taste, whose adornments I will cherish with great fondness all my days."

"To Scots, a man of dashing excitement, who was able to accomplish the near impossible in piquing my interest in the world of Quidditch."

"To Vivi, whose musical talent touched my soul and made it weep, and showed me see the universe moving through the beauty of his violin."

"To Jer, whose exacting craftsmanship and quiet attention to detail have made me appreciative of the phrase, 'it is what is hidden _underneath_ that counts the most.'"

To Argonaut, whose love for the classics gave me a new, healthy respect for my gender through the greatest examples in literary history – namely, the steadfast Eir, and the powerful Isis, and the indomitable Athena."

"To Bootsey, whose passion for life constantly reminds me that every moment is fleetingly precious, and it is important to embrace it fully, with all your heart."

"To Knot, who appears to have bowed out, I still would like to dedicate my thanks for his patient instructions in magic during our time together, for it was our discussions of Ancient Runes during one interview in particular some weeks back that aided me in a recent translation of some glyphs that changed my whole life."

"And finally, to Wolf, who is clearly no longer in the building…" Here she chuckled, and was joined by the gathering in understanding, "I would have the world know what he has done for me. Specifically, the sly Mister Wolf has taught me the value of myself, a lesson I will be forever grateful for learning."

She reached for the full champagne glass from _Madame's _waiting hand and raised it to the assembly. "To you all: may you have a long, happy life filled with splendid, abiding love and the profoundest of joy! _Salute!_"

"_Salute!_" the room erupted in boisterous wishes, and everyone drank up merrily, the party roaring back into life.

**X~~~~~X**

After wishing everyone goodnight, Hermione was led out of the room upon Draco's arm. They followed behind Aurora up the Grand Staircase, through the corridor where her private room was located, and up another flight of stairs to the third floor. There, she had been told by her keeper, was a single apartment, reserved for _this _specific occasion alone.

Aurora unlocked the door for them, offering Draco the only key. "There is dinner waiting for you, and a basket full of meats and cheeses and fruits, should you find you require another repast. If you have need of anything else, Dobby has been instructed to be at your beck and call. Pyg will be well entertained tonight, so you needn't worry about his safety or boredom."

Hermione nodded. "Thank you ever so much, _Madame_, for everything."

The House Mother waved her off. "One final note: should you require, the small table beside the bed contains a selection of... motivating delights... should your interests stray into the realm of curiosity." She smirked rather suggestively, and then turned away, heading back down the thickly carpeted stairwell. "_Beaucoup de joie à vous!_" she waved over her shoulder.

"_Merci, belle déesse!_" Draco replied in flawless French.

Alone at last in the quiet hall, Hermione suddenly found all of her courage traitorously desert her; it was hard to look up at her suitor, and in her chest, her heart beat furiously. She licked her lips as he opened the door for them, then turned and picked her up bridal style to carry her across the threshold. Kicking the door shut behind them, they stepped into their private suite for the night with no pause, making the moment finally real for her.

This was it. After tonight she would no longer be a virgin. Her Dragon - Draco - would initiate her into the world of full adulthood. Would it be a quick coupling, or would he take his time and seduce her thoroughly? She rather hoped it would be the latter, although she was concerned with their desperation for each other that it would most likely be the former.

**X~~~~~X**

His beloved's panic was palpable. Rigid of spine, a slight trembling in her limbs and a quickening breath all told him that he would have to ease her into this situation, instead of heading straight for the bed, as he'd hoped.

He glanced about the room, noting the small table and two-chair set-up in front of the magically-lit hearth. Upon it were two silver domed platters and full place settings, and next to it, an ice bucket with a bottle of champagne – already opened and breathing – waiting for them. It was a perfect opportunity to thaw the frigid atmosphere between them. "Fantastic," he sighed, crossing the distance to the dining set. "I'm famished. You?"

His Princess – _Hermione_, he crossly reminded himself – looked into his face with surprise. "Y…yes, as a matter of a fact, I am."

He tried to give her his best reassuring smile as he lowered her to her feet once more. "Away with these masks," he growled, and quickly undid hers, tossing it to the ground, followed by his own. When they were revealed to each other again, he good-humoredly grinned, letting his fingertips very lightly trace down the sides of her cheeks. "There she is – the woman of my heart. In truth, I wasn't sure you were the same person, for my lovely would never be timid. She who naughtily wears a green ribbon about her bosom and waist, and who gets me alone in a coat closet to take full advantage of my lecherous desires… no, _she _would never hide her face from me."

Her brilliant smile lit up her countenance. "You tease me."

"Every chance you allow," he cheekily replied, and placed a quick kiss upon her lips. "Now, shall we dine? I'm close to fainting with hunger."

Her laugh was musical and gay, warming his heart. "You would waste our precious time together by requiring me to play nurse and resuscitate you, I suppose?"

As she turned towards the table, he molded himself into the curves of her back and bent his mouth to her ear. "I would, if you would service me but completely… to assure my full recovery, of course."

"Oh, _of course_," she flippantly replied with a chuckle. "By the by, I have heard that smelling salts do the trick for men who find themselves… shall we say, _in distress_. Shall I conjure some to go along with our other selections of 'motivating delights' or do you think you could stay awake long enough to see this night through, _Monsieur_?"

Ever one to rise to a challenge, he gripped her hips and rubbed his growing erection boldly between the seam of her arse, sliding up it with slow efficiency at the same time as nipping her earlobe. Hermione's gasp was loud in the hushed room. "Although I will admit to some measure of good suffering, my lovely - caused primarily by the provocative swaying of your hips in this dress - does it feel as if I am having an emasculating crisis to you?"

Her breath shuddered on an exhale, and her hands moved to cover his. "I... I am not sure. You will need to demonstrate the measure of your health for me again."

Gods above, he adored that brassy mouth of hers! _This_ was more like the woman he'd come to want – the passionate innocent, who could be reckless and naughty at the same time as naïve and sensual.

Letting his lips roam the shell of her ear, he breathed heavily, hotly against her flesh even as he allowed his pelvis to ride her backside once more. "I am finding my appetites… shifting… Hermione."

She shivered and nodded. "Mine, as well, I must admit."

Allowing his fingers to dance up her waist with slow precision, he traced the valleys and peaks of her bottom ribs, then the splendid curve under her breasts. "I want this to be special for us both," he murmured, placing small kisses along the long line of her neck. "I'll be slow and gentle. I promise."

His love turned her cheek into his. "I trust you, Draco." Catching the edge of his lips, she kissed him sweetly. "Make me yours at long last. Love me."

Turning her about, his heart skipping madly about under his ribs, he bent his mouth to hers to claim her indelibly as his own. "I _do_ love you… for all eternity, my Princess."

* * *

_**TO BE CONTINUED…**_

_**

* * *

**_

**AUTHOR'S NOTES:**

"**A devouring disease of the womb" = An early way that medical practitioners referred to what is now believed to have been uterine or cervical cancer. In this time (1800's), such things as women's reproductive health were not very well understood, and modern medicine was still very much in its infancy, so these types of illnesses were typically lumped under such a phrase in journals to explain away the cause of death that inevitably accompanied such diseases.**

"**Salute!" = French for "cheers!" (the wishing to others during a toast).**

"**Beaucoup de joie à vous!" = French for "Much joy to you!" (an old medieval blessing in France).**

"**Merci, belle déesse!" = French for "Thank you, beautiful goddess!"**


	14. Ch 13: La Magie De L'Amour

**_CHAPTER THIRTEEN: La Magie De L'Amour (The Magic of Love)_**

**_Diagon Alley - London, England_**

**_July 1-2, 1815 (Saturday evening-Sunday morning)_**

His kiss was as gentle as promised, and yet underneath, there lurked a carnal fire within Draco Malfoy that Hermione yearned for him to unleash. She could taste it on her tongue, as he delved in and sweetly coaxed her, she could feel it in his hot breath as she stole pieces of him on every exhale, and she could feel it in his grip on her waist, which tightened perceptively as she twined her arms about his neck and thrust her fingers into his soft, platinum hair.

Drowning in him - in his scent, in his warmth, in the soft moans he made as she pressed the length of her whole body to his – Hermione gave herself over, surrendered willingly to her lover, allowed him to seduce her senses thoroughly. Her mind fell under the incipient wave of pleasure, and she ceased to think altogether.

"My Princess," he whispered as he drew his mouth from hers and began kissing down the length of her jaw, heading for the dip of her throat. "My Hermione." Trailing fiery breath in his wake, he slipped a hand up and removed her chandelier earring, nipping upon the tiny lobe as it was revealed. His teeth continued nibbling down her sensitive skin to her pulse, where he paused to suckle, causing it to race uncontrollably. With a gasp, she turned her head fully, giving him complete access.

Sure fingers adroitly began unbuttoning the back of her dress, pulling each knot from its hole and loop. They continued patiently downward, until all twenty fastenings were undone, and he ran his hands up the center of her spine, separating the fabric of her garment. Deftly, her lord skimmed the straps of her dress off her shoulders and gently pulled until the beautiful, white satin weight released its hold upon her, dropping to her waist. With a second tug, it fell to her feet, where it pooled in a rippling wave.

Draco pulled his lips from their attentions upon her throat, and pressed kisses back up over her jaw and cheek to her forehead, where he paused and rested his own against hers. Keeping her eyelids mostly closed, peeking through her lashes only, Hermione tried to quell the nervous fluttering in her stomach as she revealed herself in her intimates to a man's scrutiny for the first time.

"_Very_ pretty," he murmured, his fingers slipping over her arms to follow the course of her curves to her hips. He moved across the Italian corset to the five silver fasteners and began unhitching each very slowly. "So delicate and feminine, like you," he complimented.

He paused as the last clasp gave, then moved down to the garters, detaching the two in front, letting his hands roam around her body to tease the curve of her bottom deliciously before detaching the two in back. Gathering the fabric behind, her _amoureux_ pulled the garment off of her and tossed it away, baring her breasts and abdomen to him finally.

Her heart's cadence a wild beat in her chest, Hermione found it difficult to suddenly tame the trembling of her limbs as his silent scrutiny grew heavily upon her. Did he like what he was seeing? She'd always felt her body to be, thankfully, a blessing in proportion and coloration, but would a man of such worldly experience as the Baron of Swindon's heir think so as well?

Reverently, the fingers of his right hand ran down her left breast, causing her nipple to harden and her body to jolt forward from the pleasure. She gasped loudly, and gripped the lapels of his coat tightly in her fists even as he cupped the weight of her in the palm of his hand. "Lord Almighty, you really are _so lovely_," he murmured in what sounded to be awe. His other hand cupped the opposite side's heaviness, and he allowed his fingers free rein to tease and torment her with the lightest touches coupled with gentle pinching of her taut rosy buds.

A flood of moisture dampened her lingerie as he moved his mouth to her ear and began whispering naughty enticements. "Do you like me stroking your pretty, pink nipples, Hermione?"

Lost in a haze of growing passion, Hermione nodded, digging her fingernails into the velvety fabric of his clothing. He hummed in approval.

"They're just the perfect size and shape for my mouth to suckle upon. I'm betting your whole body was made for my mouth to sample. Would you like me to do so, little love?" he teased, circling her areolas with his fingertips. "Would you like me to lick every inch of you?" One hand inched down to press over her covered mons, and a single finger stroked upward through the seam, igniting little shocks along the path he traced. "Even down here?"

Eagerly, she nodded again. "Yes. Oh, _please,_ yes! I _ache_ for your touch… all over."

Recapturing her lips, he groaned, continuing to fondle her _pêche_ with exasperating pressure that was never quite enough to ease her desperation. She wanted – _needed_ - more, like last night in the closet, when his fingers touched her most intimately under her clothing, and tried to convey this to him through her eager whimpering and tight clutching upon him.

A dark chuckle against her lips made her shiver, and he reached up to remove the other earring with infuriating teasing, slipping his hands off of her body. "I want you to undress me first, Princess." Pulling away, he leaned back and caressed her cheek. "Take my clothes off and I'll give you all you want."

With shaking, impatient fingers, she found the buttons on his coat and slipped the beautiful garment from his shoulders. Stepping out of the circle of her dress and bending to collect it and her corset as well, she crossed the few steps to one of the chairs at the small dining set nearby, and laid their trappings over the furniture with care, wanting to show their expensive clothing some measure of respect. With her breasts unfettered, she felt decadently debauched turning and walking back to him, feeling their weight bounce with each step. Those ashen eyes, she noted with some measure of gratification, heatedly watched her bosom sway.

When she stood before him once more, with barely an inch between them, he reached out and cupped her breasts, teasing them with soft caresses of his thumbs. Hermione tilted her head back on her shoulders, closed her eyes, and moaned with the exquisite sensation, enjoying his attentions.

"You're _too_ distracting, my lovely. My cravat next, if you please," he reminded her, pausing in his fondling to grip her hand and pull it gently up his body to his throat, making sure she touched the plane of his torso on her quest upwards.

In this manner, he directed her with each piece of his ensemble, turning it into a game between them. She would remove his clothing a single item at a time, walk away to lay it on the chair, only to return to disrobe another piece. Each time she returned, he would stroke her breasts, pinch the nipples, and grip her wrist, to guide her hand into touching him somewhere new on his body. By the time she finished removing his cravat, vest, and cufflinks, it had clearly become a contest in personal restraint as they both eagerly reached for the other.

Hermione innately understood that Draco was trying to not only calm her, but also empower her in this act, which helped to alleviate some of her nervousness, but when his shirt fell to the ground and his torso was bared to her finally, she couldn't help the catch in her breath. He was absolutely magnificent – sculpted like a Roman God, with sleekly defined muscle that corded and firmed unconsciously upon her fingers' light exploration.

As she paused upon his nipples, rubbing across them, he took a deep breath and made a noise that indicated he liked the sensation. She repeated it, only to feel her own nipples once more being stroked into prominence by his warm fingers. Stilling so as to experience the pleasure he sent through her, she pressed her brow to his heart and closed her eyes. The strong organ under her cheek was beating fiercely.

They stayed so connected for several minutes, and Hermione used the time to find comfort, to consider the differences in their bodies, to revel in her softness versus his hard tone.

"We're only half the way there, Hermione," he finally reminded her, his voice rumbling through his chest deeply. "My trousers and stays next."

Pulling away reluctantly, her fingers traveled the length of his abdomen to find their purpose, fumbling with his buttons at the waist. Here, he helped her, reaching in and untying the cord of his breeches, placing his hands over hers and aiding her in pulling the clothing from his body. She had to slide to her knees to complete the job, removing his shoes and socks from long, muscular legs that were lightly furred a golden color.

Remaining at his feet, she gathered all her courage to look up, taking a deep, calming breath.

His beautiful Hampton was longer and thicker than she remembered, and it bobbed in the air between them, very erect. Dark golden, curly hair encircled it. Unwittingly, she reached out, touching the swollen member with the wonder of new discovery, her fingers trailing over its length underneath slowly, following the line to the base of the shaft. She reversed the course, skimming over the top this time, ending at the tip, which was dewed with clear liquid.

Remembering how Ginevra had stroked and taken her Italian lover's _bitte_ into her mouth, and the lessons _Madame_ had spoken to her about appreciating her lover thoroughly, Hermione swallowed back her fear and gave herself the bravery to attempt her own exploration.

Dipping a finger over the iridescent, shimmery _cemani _at the end of his lovely member, she brought it to her lips and tasted its light salty flavor, looking up at Draco at the same moment. His whole body was rigid and his silver eyes flashed with desire as she licked his essence off her fingertip. Repeating the act, they locked gazes, neither speaking, unsure as to where this would fully lead. It was so erotic an act, watching his jaw clench, his face tighten as she leaned forward to press her lips to the pink, thick tip of him.

The kiss she bestowed upon his crown was quick, unconfident. Her Dragon nodded encouragingly, however, his fingers gently reaching out to cup her jaw. "Again," he requested hoarsely.

Sanctioned thusly, Hermione knelt up fully on her knees and did as bade, watching his expression for signs that this was good and right. Draco smiled softly, his touch upon her cheek feathery, reassuring and inspiring. "Again. Use your tongue this time and lick, too."

Salt with a hint of zest sprang across her tongue as she swiped across the engorged cap. Her lover groaned loudly. "Oh, yes," he sighed, his eyes closed for a moment. "Again, _please_."

Repeating the action, this time, she licked around the head in a circle, remembering Angel's illuminating performance from her time observing from behind the mirror. Draco hissed with pleasure and moaned her name, tilting his head back. The long line of his bared throat came into view, and the vision was heatedly evocative; she wanted to taste that part of him, too.

Utilizing all of her stored knowledge, Hermione gripped him in one hand and parted her lips, allowing him to enter the cavern of her mouth. His groan was strangled as he watched her take him. "No teeth, lovely," he coached gently. "Use your tongue and suck as I pull back." She experimented with his tutelage, and on the slow re-entry, she let him glide in as he directed. They established a rhythm very quickly as she caught on to the technique, taking him a tad deeper with every reinsertion until she could comfortably go no further.

His hands on either side of her head gently began removing the hair pins, tossing them away, and then released her long hair from its captivity, fingering and fisting through it as she hedonistically learned the taste of him, and discovered her power over this beautiful man. Each gentle thrust forward filled her mouth with his weeping essence, and each suckle in withdrawal rung more of his savory liquid heat from him. Soon, they were both moaning, rapturously enjoying the magic of the moment.

"Hermione, I'll come," he warned her, pulling himself from her yearning lips and staring down at her with hungry need. "Later, I'll teach you more, but now I want to pleasure _you_." He held out a hand and helped her to her feet, pulling her into his embrace. "Let me love you." His lips devoured hers as he backed them to the bed.

Disappointed, as she'd wanted to know what would happen if he'd released into her mouth, but trusting him to know what was right, she twined herself around him and let him lay her back in the middle of the mattress. The cool temperature of the coverlet upon her spine clashed with the heat of his body covering her up from the front, and sent shivers along her limbs.

His kiss was greedy as he ate her up, stole her breath, and quickly made her heart pound with madness as he lay across her. She was poignantly aware of his wet, hard cock pressing into her belly and an ache began in her womb that had everything to do with wanting another climax at his initiation. Would he place his fingers upon her as he had last night?

"Thank you," he whispered, lathing her lips, enticing her to let loose all inhibition once again. "Your mouth around me was Heaven, little love. Let me return the favor…"

He dipped to nibble upon her throat once more, triggering a shock of electric sparks that began at her neck and ended at her toes. Gods, that felt delicious! His mouth leisurely, torturously continued a path over her skin. Despite her now-eager pleas, he took his time ravishing her body, his earlier fervor gradually reduced in favor of savoring this moment. Bending his mouth to hover over the intended target of her left breast, he teasingly laved his tongue around and around one nipple, never quite touching it fully. "How does this feel?"

Between shuddering breaths, she told him. "Devilish. Exquisitely sinful." She sighed as he flicked the wet tip of his tongue over the taut bud playfully. "They are so sore for you!"

Their eyes met as he allowed his lips to wrap around the sensitive bud finally, drawing it up into his mouth with pressure. Hermione cried out with pleasure, her hands fisting his hair unconsciously to pull him closer. "Yes!"

For a long minute, his tongue lashed the small blossom, his suckling upon it growing more pronounced until she felt bruised from the attention. When he turned to lavish the opposite nipple with the same consideration, Hermione's neck arched of its own accord as tongues of fire whipped through her center. Against her lower abdomen, his velvety-hard penis rocked once, bringing the apex of his pelvis against her covered mound, rubbing her with just the right force and angle to bring small shudders into her womb.

Daringly adjusting her hips, she felt him press against the dampened core of her femininity. Draco growled and bit her nipple in response.

"Oh… _oh!_" she mewled, and repeated her hip movement, liking the response. With three gliding motions and teeth clamped down firmly upon her breast, he had her wetter than she'd ever been. When his fingers dipped under the line of her intimates to press against her clitoris, skin-to-skin, they both groaned.

Draco tore his mouth from his enjoyments and danced down her body quickly, pulling the last of her lingerie from her hips with an insistent tug. He left her stockings on, apparently liking them right where they were.

All embarrassment over her nakedness was a fleeting thought in her mind as her lover looked up and parted her thighs. The expression upon his face – raw, desperate hunger – swept every consideration of proper comportment away, and made her desirous for him to fulfill his earlier promise of licking every inch of her – even here, where he was enthralled. As he coaxed her knee up and out to one side with his free hand, she mimicked the motion with her other, wantonly opening herself up to him in the most terrifying, exhilarating moment of her life.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered as his fingers delved in to part her flesh. He groaned and his lashes fluttered at his discovery. "And soaking wet already for me." Those steely gray eyes locked onto her in the next breath as he began teasing _le chat_ mercilessly. "I want you to release for me, just like this, with my fingers and mouth upon you," he bid, leaning his face in close and inhaling deeply with a sigh. In the next second, his tongue peeked out, bathing her slowly up her seam, even as his long fingers caressed with the tenderness of angel's wings upon her most sensitive flesh.

Heart slamming in her mouth, legs trembling from the incredible sensation of his soft, moist tongue alternating between circling her small _cerise_ before suckling upon it lightly, Hermione could only stare up at the ceiling of their suite as he brought her to the brink of mindless, whipping need in mere moments.

Hands clenched into the coverlet, she squirmed under her lover's ministrations, lustily crying out from his voracious, exploratory probing through her labia and even deep inside her virginal entrance. Feeding from the sweetness of her opening, he groaned deep, the vibration setting off little detonations of tickling pleasure through her womb.

She'd incorrectly thought it wouldn't be possible to feel anything more glorious.

"_Oh, God!_" she cried out as he pierced her small opening with one finger and began moving it rhythmically in and out, causing the muscles inside her canal to undulate in an attempt to grab and hold him. "Oh… oh… _oh, please!_" she begged him for that same relief he'd given her last night in the closet, reaching once more for that peak of rapture, her hips moving of their own accord to meet each of his hand's gentle thrusts.

Lapping at her, Draco watched her over the length of her body, those silver, predatory eyes hot in their desire for her. "Come," he commanded, and the tone of his voice just before latching onto her little clit and sucking was Hermione's undoing.

In glorious waves of splendor, her passion crested, her body exploding with beautiful release, her mind Disapparating amongst the clouds.

In the midst of such ecstasy, she felt her love shift atop her. "I love you," he murmured, petting her hair back from her cheek, watching her face as she came down from the rapture. He let her catch her breath, allowed her heart to regain its paces before seeking her permission. "Are you ready?"

Tracing his lips with her fingertips, she nodded, her previous anxiety completely melted away, her whole body thrumming with joy. "Make love to me, Draco."

Tilting his head, Draco placed a kiss into the palm of Hermione's hand. His heart slammed under his ribs at the honesty of her sweet request. Never had he been so besotted for a woman! The strength of his emotions where this witch was concerned overwhelmed him. A darker part of him clamored in the back of his mind to fuse them together in reckless abandon and to hell with tenderness. The more rational and settled part of him reminded him of her innocence, however, and overrode his baser instincts.

"I think, for your first time, you should be on top. That way, you can control how I come into you," he explained as softly as he could without frightening her. "You're really small and tight, beloved, and I'm worried I'll hurt you too much if I enter you this way." He demonstrated the standard missionary position by pressing his naked length through the saturated seam of her body. They both gasped at the wonderful feeling, and he found himself doing it again and then again before forcibly stopping himself. Getting carried away like that would negate all his attempts to make this good for her, as he knew he was too tempted to just press into her as they were right then and be done with it in one heavy thrust. He kissed her with a gentle pull of lips instead and lifted his body off of hers entirely. "Trade places with me."

They shifted around and he gripped her hips as she straddled him, balancing her weight upon her knees and the palms of her hands upon his chest. Lifting his thick, throbbing shaft in one hand, holding the taut length firmly, he placed the head at her entrance and looked up at her. "Nice and slow," he tried to calm her, noticing her cheeks rouge and her breath quicken. "This is the first time we'll _both_ be making love, as I've never felt for a woman as I do you, Hermione. I love you with my whole soul."

Her eyes softened and she smiled beautifully down at him. "I love you, too, Draco - with everything I am."

With that, she gently dropped her hips down and his thick crown penetrated her small opening, pushing past the folds of skin that protected her body's purity. She huffed in surprise and stopped, closing her eyes tightly, her breath held deep in her chest. "Ah," she gasped in a small voice.

Patiently, Draco waited, clenching his jaw against the exquisite tightness that engulfed the head of his penis, supporting her lissome form with his hands upon her tiny waist. "Breathe, love," he coaxed her, but her panting came in earnest as she slid a bit more onto him, stopping again. He felt his cock working its way into her through muscles and tissues so tight that it was sheer torture. "Relax and slide back up a bit," he encouraged, guiding her. "Now back down to the same point. Good. Again." They moved together in this miniscule way to help open her up a bit at a time, taking her a little lower on each pass, just as they had when she'd taken him into her mouth.

Shifting a hand between her legs, he began massaging her tiny pearl with each petite stroke, concentrating on her instead of his own desire, and soon she was crying out in pleasure, her strong grip upon him relaxing a bit. "When you come, sit fully upon me," he bade, preparing them both, and so caught up was she with the pleasurable sensations that all she could do was nod, moaning as she writhed up and down on him.

The sensation of drawing to her entrance and stroking past into her by small inches was amazing, and brought Draco's own orgasm roaring to the surface in seconds despite his best mental exertions to hold it at bay. He bit the inside of his cheek, stunned that he was about to lose control so thoroughly and he realized that he hadn't even fully coupled with her yet.

Stroking her clit faster, he watched Hermione writhe above him, braced on her palms. Her eyes were closed and her face a mask of concentrated pleasure-pain, as she bit her swollen bottom lip with those pretty, white teeth of hers. Her succulent breasts swayed up and down as she moved and he released her hip to tease one, pinching the nipple with gentle pressure, pulling it away slightly until she gasped and then letting go. He did this again and again, continuing to circle her sensitive, little nub with his thumb.

"Draco… I'm…" She looked down at him, desperately hungry for release. "I can't…"

Magnificently aroused by her sinuous movements, he gripped her hips and very carefully guided her a bit further down upon him, desperate for them to come fully together soon. She shuddered. "Ooooh," she yielded to pleasure. "More. So close…"

Her throaty entreaty was nearly his undoing. "Take me, love," he implored. "Relinquish all control. Come undone for me."

"Yes, _yes!_" she cried in abandon as he tempted her little button again with his fingers. "Draco!" She threw her head back as he pinched her clitoris and raucously cried out. Her climax thundered through her and made easy the final breaching of her _cerise_. One moment, she was gliding down onto him, and then her whole body rippled around him, pulling him deep into her. She dropped all her weight upon him just as he thrust up into her, breaking through the thin membrane at the same moment and claiming her virginity in an orgasmic rush that swept them both away.

Gods, it felt unbelievable! Her incredibly tight body convulsed about him, pulling each jettison of his release from him in a fiery burst of ecstasy. Reaching up, he grabbed her and pulled her down so he could meet her mouth to capture her breathy rapture. "I love you," he managed to groan as another wave passed over him and he felt his seed spurt deep into her womb.

Barely finished with these first rhythmic convulsions, he was driven to the brink again a moment later when a powerful, compulsing magic unexpectedly flowed through them both in a rush of golden light, making them climax a second time in succession together. They both gasped in surprise. This time, her insides fluttered up and down his cock like silken hands milking him in waves, and Draco was helpless but to call out for her, his heart's Princess, as his essence pulsed into her again and again at the gateway to her womb.

Hermione's whole body burned up in fiery culmination, even as her mind abandoned her to soar freely with the angels. The sensation was paradise beyond even Heaven's substance, leaving her vulnerable, shattered in a way she'd never felt before when it passed over her, and she returned to the confines of her mortal shell. With a sob, she flung herself into Draco's arms, burying her face into his neck, frightened by how overwhelming the experience had been, but simultaneously moved by its splendor. "I love you," she whispered over and over, shaking uncontrollably, her words catching on a hitched breath.

Her lord wizard held onto her tight, his hands soothing through her hair. "Shhh, beloved. It's all right. I've got you."

It took several minutes to calm down, enough for her to feel as silly as a goose for how unhinged she'd become. "I am sorry," she apologized, wiping one hand over a dampened cheek. "It was _so_ _beautiful_. I never thought making love could be so wonderful."

Her lover nuzzled her cheek. "Did I hurt you much?" He was clearly worried.

Hermione shook her head, felt her blush overtake her cheeks again. "I am… decidedly sore, but… pleasantly so."

His deep hum of contentment reverberated through his chest and throat. "So, would you want to do it again?" The smile was evident in his voice. "Tonight, perhaps, after a bath and a bite?"

Lifting up on her elbows, she stared down at him, feeling unquestionably self-conscious. "It was… adequate for you, then?"

Draco burst into laughter, grabbed her tight and rolled them over so he leaned atop her. "Adequate?" He kissed her soundly, pulling his body out of hers at the same moment. "My lovely, I have never burned so thoroughly. It was… _incredibly_ inspiring." He shook a moment's lethargy away. "And physically exhausting. You have worn me out."

She couldn't help the giggle that escaped or the playful jibe that found voice from her lips. "Shall I summon the smelling salts then?"

Patting her hip in remonstration, he leaned down and nuzzled her cheek, peppering small kisses across the line of her jaw. "I have something much better planned for us later, if you approve. But first…" He _Accio'd_ his wand to his hand. "We should clean up."

With an easy push-up on one arm, he lifted his weight and made to wave his wand in _Scourgify_. Hermione stopped him, noting her blood upon his hips and tired length. "Wait," she pleaded his patience a moment, hesitantly reaching out to touch the evidence of her lost innocence. Rubbing the wet upon her fingertips, she brought it up between them, staring at it with fascination, the reality sinking in finally. "I am… a woman, at last."

Draco placed his wand down on the bed and relaxed upon her once more, his mouth seeking hers. "Thank you for so great a gift," he murmured softly as their lips pulled apart.

The curtain of his hair fell in disarray over his cheeks as he leaned over her, and with her unstained hand, she reached up to stroke that strong jaw, to trace that sensual mouth, to learn the curves of his face with trembling fingertips. "Thank you for making this experience so lovely."

They quietly stared into each other's eyes for long minutes after that, gently touching, watching, and learning.

"I have been alone for so long, and I admit, I had given up hope of a love match. I thought to marry for status, to secure an heir and to simply do my duty," he admitted with a soft sigh, his thumb caressing the lobe of her ear. "I never thought it possible to feel as I do now." He dipped his head and kissed her lips with the softness of an angel. "How is it that you have bewitched me so thoroughly?"

Hermione knew, but was suddenly very afraid to tell him. Would he think differently of her if he discovered the truth about the spells placed upon the House? Surely, he could not already know about it?

"What is it, beloved?" he asked, pushing a gathering of stray hair off her forehead.

Shaking, she gathered her courage to reveal her discovery, knowing it would not be right to enter into this relationship with hidden knowledge. "I discovered something while performing some research work that _Madame_ asked me to do this last week that affects you and me," she admitted, shivering in anxious worry. "The House, you no doubt know, is owned by your family. What you may not know is that the founder cast a powerful spell upon the walls and foundation of _La Cerise_, to assure that all within your line…" She paused, swallowed, closed her eyes and prayed for the best. "All within your line would find your brides here, specifically. That your ideal witch would be called to come, utilizing the ley lines that cross under Diagon Alley and stretch out across the island in every direction, and to… serve you." With more courage than she thought herself capable of, she glanced up at him. "I was summoned here for you. I was meant to be yours. It is the reason there is magic between us. We were compelled to find one another."

He stared at her for a long minute, considering what she said, assessing her with those rich, grey eyes as fathomless as the storm.

"Do you feel… forced… to be with me?" he finally asked, oh-so-carefully.

As if there were an enchanted tether connecting their feelings, Hermione could sense he was acutely disconcerted with the idea. Wanting to give him the confidence of her earlier realization on the subject, she firmly shook her head. "I considered that when I initially discovered the truth, but when I thought about you, I realized that no matter the reason for my coming here, no magic can force _real _love to grow between partners – not even Amortentia. My feelings for you are all my own." She ran a finger over his lips again. "I love you for the way you have always spoken to me as if I were your equal, for the way you have always shown a surfeit of consideration for my happiness, and for the way you make me burn for your touch." Pressing her hand to his heart, she whispered now. "I love you, Draco Malfoy, and I would do so for the remainder of my days on this earth, if you would let me."

He closed his eyes and let out a ragged exhale, swallowing heavily. When he glanced back at her, his silvery gaze shown with relieved happiness and he smiled. The furrow in his brow that had appeared just the minute before was gone now, replaced with a smooth, unworried expression. Cupping her cheeks, he bent and kissed her as sweetly as he had their first time. "I would love you all the rest of my days as well, Hermione. I ask again, would you pledge yourself to me? Would you grant me the honor of being my wife?"

Unexpected tears rolled down the sides of her face into her hairline as she nodded enthusiastically. "Yes!"

They kissed for a while longer, before he raised his wand again to clean them of the evidence of her lost virginity, and then he carried her into the bath, where he lavished great attentions upon her. For her part, she returned the favor, and learned every parcel of his body in return, from head to toe. She was fascinated with the length between his thighs, caressing it and the sack below with gentle touches, watching it come to life in her palm as she stroked up and down, feeling its hard demand for her. Holding her back against his chest, he gently touched her between her thighs once more, and there in the warm, rose-scented water, there was no pain, only sweet pleasure. When she petite-climaxed finally, it was a tender release, filled with sighs of "I love you."

Water-logged and famished, they eventually dried off and made their way to the table, each clothed in a lounging robe left for them by the _Madame_, choosing to sit next to each other, rather than across the table.

Their stomachs gnawing with hunger by then, they enjoyed the delicious banquet so meticulously prepared. The main entrée consisted of _Lapin à la moutarde_ - rabbit cooked in a grainy mustard sauce with herbs and white wine – with asparagus in a crème sauce and sweetbreads for sides, and was enjoyed with the Burgundy wine left for them. They spoke little in the way of meaningful conversation while eating their dinner, lost in the teasing glances and nipping, but the dessert course was a different matter all unto itself.

Dipping her spoon into the delicately cooked Sambayon – a warm, Italian rum custard - Hermione glanced up at Draco under her lashes, working up her nerve to try out some of the more daring adventures she'd been dreaming about for the last few weeks. Her innocence shed and a maiden no longer, a promise of marriage firmly made and accepted, now was the time for her to be bold, she decided.

"Did you know that a few weeks ago, I asked the _Madame_ to show me the differences between sex and love making," she asked in an enticing tone, playing the role of the siren for the first time in her life and feeling her cheeks flood with warmth at the thrill. "I had never seen a man and woman couple before, and I was curious as to what it actually looked like." Continuing to speak about it as if it were the most casual of subjects, she lapped with purposeful naughtiness upon her silverware, cleaning the dessert fully from it. "It appears that instruction by book cannot adequately reflect the important social nuances of the mating ritual." Twirling a curl of her hair around and around in slow motion, she teased another mouthful of the custard and intentionally suckled on the spoon as she pulled it from between her lips. "So, Aurora arranged for me to partake of a different kind of learning – a voyeuristic one."

Her lover had gone deathly still, watching her with darkening, rapacious eyes, the pupils enlarged, his breathing increased slightly. A matching flush covered his cheeks. "You watched couples from behind the mirror?"

Unflinchingly meeting his silvery gaze, she nodded. "I did." She uninhibitedly popped a single, juicy raspberry off of the dessert's center, making a show of enjoying it by humming in delight.

Her wizard mimicked her. "And what did you think, my bluestocking beauty?" he asked, his voice gone low, honeyed-smooth.

Sipping some Champagne, she stared at him over the rim, suggestively licking around the edge of the glass. "Very educational. Particularly the types of positions one can accommodate."

Her Dragon gathered another spoon of custard and made small licks into the dip, gathering the cream on his pink tongue and lasciviously enjoying it. "Was there a particular position you found the most exciting to watch?"

Things in Hermione's womb flipped around at the words, and she became decidedly moist once again between her legs. Her nipples tingled. "When the witch was lying on her back, and her _amoureux_ came over her, he did, at one point, lift her foot and place it over his shoulder." Going in for another spoonful of delight, she swirled the tip around the custard and then gathered a bit, licking it off sensually while meeting his eye, her heart beating very fast now in her chest at the predatory expression that reappeared upon her wizard's features. "I noticed such a position created an opening for deeper penetration. I rather liked the look of it."

"Did you now?" he whispered in barely-restrained sexual hunger.

She nodded, putting her spoon down and sitting back in her chair, running her hands down the front of her robe slowly. His eyes followed her fingers as they played with the knot about her waist to loosen it slowly. It took all of her bravado to pretend like this, and yet it strangely excited her to be so naughty. "I wonder how that position would feel. Would I enjoy it as much, or would it be more for your satisfaction to have me lie back and allow you full charge of my body?"

It was an entirely too bold question to ask, but the heat it caused in his eyes, the way his nostrils flared slightly and the tightening of his posture told her he liked her playing this role.

"Open your robe for me," he commanded, putting his spoon down and turning his chair to face her.

Her natural shyness chose that moment to interfere and she paused in her performance, faltered. There was such a burning intensity in his steely-gray eyes…

"Do it," he required gently.

Her nether regions throbbing now with enhanced arousal, she slipped the knot, pulled the ties apart and the robe fell open, fully exposing her _en dishabille_ once more. How erotic a thing to have a man look upon you with such longing desire that you could almost feel his aura caressing yours, she realized as his slow perusal of her curves made its way from head to toe. Never had she ached for a single touch from another as she did now.

"Cup your breasts for me."

Feeling the heat flash through her, Hermione did as bade.

"Pinch your nipples as you like. Tell me how it feels."

Complying, she closed her eyes and gasped at the exquisite sensation. By the Almighty, this felt madly wanton – and _so right! _"They ache with such need," she rasped, repeating the experience several times, rolling her thumbs and forefingers over the taut, rosy buds. "Oooh, there is a current of magic that runs through me downward into my core when I do this - like little shivers of fire traveling through my body."

"Place your feet upon my knees."

Doing so opened her sacred place to his purview. He widened his stance to expose her further, and Hermione felt decadently ashamed at the same time as utterly enlivened to her more sexual self.

"Will it shock your sensibilities further than they can comfortably bear if I tell you that your woman's font is the most beautiful I have ever seen?" Draco murmured softly, entranced by the vision between her legs, rubbing his hands up and down her calves. "I want you to touch it for me. I want you to bring yourself relief while I watch."

Hermione's breath hitched. "You do?"

Those eager orbs of mercurial profundity challenged her once more. "I require you to do this for _my_ pleasure, my Princess, not just yours. Will you give me what I wish?"

She wet her lips again. "Always, my Dragon."

Slipping her fingers down her torso, she met her little cherry nub and caressed it in the manner that she knew from practice would incite climax. "Will you touch yourself for me as well?" she risked provocation. "I would very much enjoy watching you."

His lips curved into sinful amusement. "If that is your wish."

She nodded. "It is."

Leaning back, loosening his robe, she noted with a thrill that he was long and hard once more for her. Gripping his solid flesh in his hand, he began stroking it up and down, letting out a shuddering breath, his gaze returning to the motion of her hands. "Already, there is so much moisture glistening at your tiny entrance." He reached out, ran his fingers there, gathering up her satiny flow, causing Hermione's body to jolt and tighten with increased need. Slathering her essence onto his staff, he groaned, and increased the pace of his hand.

The sound of his wet flesh stroking faster made her craving for him burn through her. With her free hand, she pinched a nipple again, rolling it. "Oh!" she whimpered, unable to prevent herself. This was the most wicked thing she'd ever done in her whole life and it felt absolutely wonderful! "Draco…"

"There is a charm I know that will allow us an entire's night pleasure in such a way, if you would allow it," he explained, his voice a deep rumble. "We could enjoy each other to complete exhaustion. Would you like to try it?"

At this point, Hermione was willing for anything. Nothing seemed taboo any longer. She felt like she was being pulled towards all four cardinal points at once as her orgasm neared. "Yes. Oh, _mère_, _yes!_"

With a quick move, he knelt on her chair between her legs, continuing to stroke his thick cock while his lips eagerly met hers. "Keep touching yourself, go inside," he growled, lowering his tip to her wet labia. "I want you to come for me, just like this."

Having never touched herself like that before, Hermione hesitantly entered her own channel with two fingers, continuing to circle her tiny bud at the same time. The feeling was incredibly erotic, increasing her need exponentially the deeper she thrust into her own tightly-clenching sheath. "Ahh!" she hissed with pleasure, her body frenzily igniting with passion. "So _scandalously_ wicked!" she purred as she reached for her ending with reckless fervor, setting a rhythm that was fast, wild.

Her lover reached his free hand into her hair, fisting it tight, and pulled her neck back further, deepening his kisses. A rumble escaped his throat, and between their overheated bodies, she could feel his hand swiftly gliding along his length, his knuckles occasionally brushing hers as he crested the wave of fulfillment. "Come with me, beloved," he beseeched.

Powerless but to obey, she thrust a final measure and flew into the stars with his name upon her lips and heart. It was delirious ecstasy being so lost to Nirvana.

A moment behind her, Draco groaned loudly, kissed her with fierce, primal need, and she felt his hot release splash against her wet flesh, bathing her clitoris and seam. Unsatisfied, he quickly pulled her hand away from her own pleasuring, lifted her hips and entered her hard and deep with a single thrust, continuing to ejaculate into her instead, his hips punctuating each jettison by withdrawing and then slamming into her over and over, signaling that _this_ was where his seed truly belonged.

Several long seconds later, he moaned low in his throat as the last of his spasms rolled over him, his breath blasting against her neck with his finish, as he lowered his forehead into its cradle to begin relaxing. He was shaking, the same as she from the amazing experience.

"I love you," she pronounced softly, her voice quavering with emotion.

Against her throat, Draco inhaled deeply in satisfaction. "I love you, my lovely witch." Dragging his forehead over her skin until they pressed brows together, he looked at her with lazy, silver orbs filled with adoration. "I still want to try that spell. Do you?"

Nodding, she giggled tiredly. "It is shameful of me, I know, but I find I like doing this with you too much to stop so soon. Cast the charm upon us. Teach me all about love."

The wayward grin he flashed her only made him more devilishly handsome, she found. "As you wish, my Princess." _Accio_-ing his wand to hand, he withdrew from the depths of her body, and cast the enchantment upon them both. Instantly, Hermione's desire was kindled back into life, the fiery rush pouring through her system with the same intensity as the House spell had earlier, during their first coupling.

Draco lifted and took her in his arms, his length – proudly erect once again - pressed into her belly. They made for the bed with purpose.

Laying her back, her Dragon stared down at her with unapologetic ill-discipline, his sensual lips curving with boyish charm. "I'm going to love you all night, my Hermione, in every way possible." Summoning something with a whispered word from the other room, a green stripe flew through the air and into his hand. Showing off the ribbon he'd removed from her stocking'd foot before the bath, he skimmed down her supple body, gently tying it back around her petite ankle. "I promised myself the night you first adorned yourself thusly, my lady, that I would have you with this tiny foot resting here," he demonstrated, pulling her leg up to rest upon his shoulder, just as she'd described, "and with this ribbon where I could see it while driving you mad with lust."

She hummed in anticipation as he dipped his head to her breasts and took a hardening nipple into his mouth, and with a delicious surge, he entered her once more.

His woman was perfection – so slippery soft, and yet gripping his length with perfect pressure. Even without the aid of the spell behind them, he would think it so; would want her as often as possible. His Princess was a witch of unparalleled beauty and he unabashedly admitted that he was unconcernedly ensnared by the beguiling temptations she freely offered him. Watching her amber-eyes grow impossibly dark with unslaked lust, her lips parting with cries, her nipples thrusting into the air as she arched her back under his attentions, he felt powerfully alive.

Just as he'd fantasized, he brought her to the brink while lathering kisses across her perfect ankle, gripping her hip with one hand, while running the other up under her knee. His eyes devoured her every inch as she writhed under his skill, and he watched his wet, gleaming cock pierce her divine, welcoming pussy, withdraw with a smooth jerk of his hips, only to hungrily reenter on the next pulse. Over and over. In and out. Her perfect body begged for what he could provide, eagerly meeting him on every upstroke to take him in to the hilt. Too soon, though, she came for him, and he stilled to really feel her orgasm about him, biting back his own with great discipline.

Withdrawing, dripping with desperate need, he gently turned her over and taught her one of his favorite positions. Spreading her legs wide, he tilted her hips up a bit, and supporting his weight on his palms, he slowly slid into her again. Using all of the strength in his arms, abdomen and buttocks, he thrust into her as deep as possible, bumping the gateway of her womb with each stroke. Tossing his head back on his shoulders, he rode her with long, thick strokes. It didn't take much for her moans to quickly echo his. At the perfect angle for both of their pleasure, within moments, his lovely climaxed again. This time, he joined her.

The spell allowed them such perfect synchronization for two hours. In that time, Draco thoroughly claimed Hermione in a variety of exotic positions – arching her hips up while he knelt before her and pulled her over his length, their entwined hands gripping the headboard together while he thrust into her from behind, lying on their sides and coming into her from behind while he caressed her small pearl, her legs resting on his shoulders as she sat up and her weight supported on the palms of her hands as he surged into her up on his knees… on and on. They tried so many things, intimately binding their hearts and souls as tightly together as their bodies. For a virgin, she had been gloriously insatiable - enthusiastic about learning and perfecting each new attempt, despite the fact he knew she had to be sore all over from his attentions.

When the spell finally wore off, they simply collapsed together, sweaty and sated; his seed had spilled a total of six times that night into her, her releases seemingly endless.

Cuddling close under the covers, she yawned into his shoulder. "I love you, my Dragon," she whispered. "Thank you for the best night of my life."

Draco gently kissed her temple and nuzzled her hairline, inhaling her wondrous scent again, committing it to memory. "You're quite welcome, my lovely Princess. I promise to make tomorrow even better for you."

"And the day after?" she teased, her voice beginning to drop off into restful slumber.

"Forever and ever," he promised, twining his fingers up with hers again. "In this lifetime and the next."

A moment later, he was also fast asleep.

* * *

**_TO BE CONTINUED…_**

**_

* * *

_**

**AUTHOR'S NOTES:**

**Le Chat**** = French for "the cat" – a Victorian Era slang term for "a woman's vagina." It is where we get the term "pussy" and "kitty" from when referring to this part of a woman's anatomy.**

**High-rolling dandies will spin on their greens = A Regency Era/Victorian Era turn-of-phrase, meaning society will, literally, be taken aback and frustrated by the turn of events. During this period, gentlemen of leisure and wealth (the high-rolling dandies) often partook of gambling in "gentlemen establishments" (many of them lost entire fortunes this way, squandering them on bad bets). Typically, it was cards, but there was also Craps (the dice game) at this time. The phrase 'spinning on a green' is a term used primarily in the 18th and 19th centuries to mean that your thrown craps dice has landed in an area where it doesn't count (and thus must be thrown again), causing the dice thrower and betters to be frustrated. No one knows the exact origin of that phrase, however (the best guesses seem to point to the fact that many dice games are played impromptu on the ground, and sometimes near grass). Just another example of how sometimes funny or odd sayings can crop up in community, and they are very culturally relevant only to the times and the society (i.e. "the dog's bollocks" means nothing to non-British folk).**

**Mère****= French for "mother."**

**Bluestocking = Regency Era slang for "an educated, intellectual woman."**

**Music listened to when writing this chapter (you may want to give these songs a listen, especially when reading this chapter… it sets the mood nicely):**

"**_Main Titles" – from "The Princess Bride" original motion picture soundtrack_**

"**_Meg's Hair" – from "Little Women" original motion picture soundtrack_**

"**_When Ginny Kissed Harry" – from "Harry Potter & The Half-Blood Prince" original motion picture soundtrack_**

"**_Love Affair" – from "Legend of 1900" original motion picture soundtrack_**

"**_When You Say You Love Me – by Josh Groban_**


	15. Ch 14: New Beginnings

**_CHAPTER FOURTEEN: NEW BEGINNINGS_**

**_Diagon Alley - London, England_**

**_July 2, 1815 (Sunday late morning)_**

Hermione awoke feeling deliciously sore and tender, every muscle well-used and begging for a hot soak in the bath. Reaching out, she found Draco's side of the bed empty, but still warm. Stiffly sitting up with a moan, she blinked several times to clearly focus, but her lover was nowhere to be seen. She did, however, hear someone moving about in the next room, and could smell soothing lavender drifting through the air, and knew what her fiancée was about.

Heaving with some difficulty to her feet, she stumbled. Strong, protective arms came about her, catching and supporting, preventing her from falling back onto the mattress. With an effortless pull, she was then lifted up and held aloft like a bride carried by an eager groom. "Good morning, my lovely," _Monsieur_ Dragon - _Draco_, she firmly reminded herself - greeted her, his platinum hair sexily tousled, his quicksilver eyes flashing with intermingled contentment and desire.

For a moment, Hermione was struck speechless by how handsome her wizard truly was. Even obvious exhaustion from a night of carnal revelry could not detract from his overall attractiveness. She feared how she looked; her hair must be a fright, her eyes surely as puffy and sunken as they felt. "Good morning," she murmured softly, acutely aware of his lips closing in on hers.

Their mouths met, lingered on a gentle, mostly chaste pull of skin and she sighed in satisfaction. Could any of this be real? Had she truly found the love of her life? It all seemed so fantastical, like something out of her finest dreams.

He swept her across the room and into the adjoining chamber to find that he had, indeed, prepared a bath for them. When he stepped into the tub without preamble, she realized he was as naked as she, and although last night she'd felt the wanton she-devil, this morning, she oddly found she was a bit shy. As they sank under the relaxing water together, she on his lap, he leaning his cheek against the top of her head, she chastised herself for being the prude. She was a woman now – _his_ woman – and there was no shame to be found in his arms.

"Last night was everything I've ever dared dream for," she unreservedly proclaimed, nuzzling his throat with her nose and placing soft kisses upon the skin. "Thank you, my love."

His answering chuckle was quite naughty. "I'm glad you enjoyed it, my Princess, but as I explained to you earlier this morning, before you passed out quite thoroughly, I intend upon lavishing such delights upon you as often as you'll allow." As he'd explained all of this to her, his fingers slyly meandered up the outside of her thigh, and were now caressing over the curves to delve between her legs once more, finding her small _cerise_ and softly rubbing.

Giggling like a young maiden, she cuddled into the embrace of her wizard and let him explore at his will, taking great enjoyment from his attentions. "Lavish away," she smilingly challenged.

**X~~~~~X**

**_Diagon Alley - London, England_**

**_July 2, 1815 (Sunday afternoon)_**

Aurora took her tea in restful solitude on a settee upon her balcony overlooking the rose garden below. Ironically, her room was located down the way from Miss Granger's temporary apartment, but today, her charge – _former_ charge, now that the auction had ended – arrived into the back gated area via the private stairs from the Royal Suite with her future husband in tow.

My, what a striking couple they made! _Monsieur_ Dragon was a wonderful specimen indeed – handsome, rich, sinfully enticing. And The Princess was a paragon of beauty, intelligence and grace. Their children would be superlative witches and wizards, no doubt.

Pyg appeared at her side in a flash of white light and a small 'pop,' startling her. "Good day, _Madame_," he politely bowed. "How fare you this fine day?"

It simply amazed her that this little boy - no, _creature_, she internally remonstrated – was learning so quickly the ways and mannerisms of polite society. Indeed, he dressed himself like a young lord, kept himself meticulously clean, and respectfully addressed his betters as required (despite the occasional _faux pas_). In fact, he was so perfect in his attempts to emulate the adults about him that he actually rose above the majority of the cultured world's human children who hovered around the same age bracket, most of whom were ill-behaved and often dirty.

A smile found its way to her face without effort in the presence of this youngling. "I am quite well, thank you for asking. And how do you fare?"

He brightly grinned. "I am… Hmmm, how did that man named Bootsey say it last night? Oh, yes, I remember now! I am _just_ _smashing_, thank you. Mr. Blaise took me to his townhouse with Miss Ginny last night for a 'sleep-over' and I learned about ghosts that haunt many of the old trails in England, who Guy Fawkes was, and how to cheat at faro properly. I also learned that adults do a lot of quiet sneaking around for kissing games in the dark when they think you aren't paying attention."

Oh, dear.

Aurora burst out into laughter, shaking her head in great amusement. "_Oui, ma petite Chéri_, I believe we all tend to forget that you are more than a little boy, to our own embarrassment at times. You are _incroyable_, my darling Pygmalion."

Pyg blinked. "Who's that?"

"Pygmalion?" Aurora asked, forgetting that he'd had no formal training in the classics, regardless of his age. "Why, he was a Greek sculptor of some fame. Your name sounds like a shortening of his, and after our discussion last night... well, it seems you both have something in common: an interest in making your own fate. I find the alias most fitting, although if you would prefer I not use it...?"

The little Puffskein shook his head and came to sit on the edge of her settee next to her, looking decidedly interested. "I don't mind. What did he do, though?"

Aurora offered him tea, which he kindly declined, his inquisitive nature clearly piqued; he was intently focused on her, waiting for her explanation with apparently great anticipation. "Well, _mon curieux_, Pygmalion's story as told by Ovid is quite filled with hope. He was an artisan of great talent, who dedicated many of his pieces to the Ancient Greek Goddess of Love, Aphrodite. One day, he began sculpting in ivory his ultimate masterpiece with his Goddess' pleasure in mind – and when he'd finished he realized that he'd carved the most beautiful woman in the world. Day after day, he found himself at his beauty's feet, staring up into the perfect features that he had so lovingly fashioned. Eventually, he stared at his statue for so long that he fell in love with her - the most unobtainable perfection in the mortal world. When he petitioned the Goddess of Love to grant him his heart's desire in making the statue a real woman, she granted him the boon for his years of faithful service and through the intervention of her son, Eros, brought the statue to life and made her fall in love with her creator. Later poets would name the woman 'Galatea.' Regardless, the exultant couple then had many children and passed their years in great contentment, until finally old age took them into the afterlife." She put her empty tea cup back onto its matching saucer and set them both upon the small side table that she'd conjured earlier, along with the settee. "Some choose to look on Pygmalion's story as a moral lesson and warning – never to put another being upon a pedestal that is too high to achieve equality with them, for you will suffer mightily in the doing. I, however, have always appreciated the tale for its positive spin. Specifically, to me, it is the quest of one man's passionate heart to shape and mold his own destiny and then in having the supreme faith to see that fate come to fruition, bringing with it his life's greatest joy."

"Pygmalion... he made his own destiny," he softly murmured to himself, his brow furrowed in deep thought. "I… like that story, _Madame_." He glanced up at her, his face rather determined all of a sudden. "I like it _very_ much. Thank you for telling it to me." He stood then, and soberly looked down upon his foster parents, watching them walk about the garden, laughing and enjoying the most of their first day together. "I have a request to make of you, my Lady, if you don't mind," he requested.

Puzzled by his odd behavior, Aurora's own curiosity got the better of her. "Certainly, child - _if_ it is in my power to bestow." She stood and joined the adorable, little cherub at the railing and fondly brushed a lock of his hair from his eyes, wondering what thoughts were going through that amazing mind.

He paid her touch no mind, his eyes locked onto Hermione and her new lover as they bent to smell some of the flowers together. A hint of resolved sadness alighted upon his face. "Will you tell them that I will be back someday?"

For reasons unexplainable, Aurora felt an odd grief tugging upon her heart at his words. She withdrew her hand and clasped it before her abdomen, absently rubbing in small circles over her belly. "You mean to leave them then? And go where, _bébé?_"

Looking more grown-up than any five or six year old had a right, he nodded. "They have finally met their destinies. I must create mine – like Pygmalion."

Placing her free hand upon his small shoulder, she drew his attention. Those grey eyes, so like the young Lord Swindon's, fastened upon her with all sincerity. "What do you seek out there that you cannot find within the love of their home?"

Unwaveringly, he looked at her, and there was an innocent despair that brought tears to Aurora's eyes. "I want to be human! Someone must know how to prolong my life and to change me permanently, so I can have a love like theirs someday." He looked back at his adopted parents as two, large tears streaked down his pale cheeks. "I want that more than _anything._"

So mature… a child speaking as an adult! And yet, he wasn't a youth at all, was he? Again, she'd fallen with ease under his spell! He was an enchanted metamorph; not human, not beast, but something helplessly locked in between the two worlds as a result of (she strongly suspected) the spells placed upon the House in regards to giving the happy couple of the hour the children that were promised. Backed by the power of the rune for gathering and influencing others to fulfill this task, it was now her belief that Pyg had been fated to be chosen by _Monsieur_ Dragon to give to his Princess as a substitute until he could get her with his seed. That Pyg was a magical creature in his own right was only amplified by the strength of the spell upon _La Cerise_, transforming him, making him aware of himself and the world in a way a normal Puffskein never could be. Trapped in this evolution, he was like the Pinocchio of the fairytale - helplessly bound to exist as both human and non-human, forever seeking to be "a real boy."

The sweet creature wiped the tears off his cheeks with trembling fingers. "I'm going to find the answer to my wish, and then I'll be back. Tell them it's a promise."

Aurora nodded, her heart aching for this tiny being. "Do you need anything for your journey?"

He shook his head. "No, but thank you, _Madame_." Bowing formally, he took a last look at his parents. "Tell them that I will love them every day… and that I wish them much joy with their real son."

"Son? Then, they have conceived?" she asked, surprised. "But it has only been a few short hours!"

Giving her a mysterious, winsome smile, he shrugged nonchalantly. Then, to her immense shock, he wiggled his small hand under hers and lay it flat upon her belly, the same as the night before, and sighed with what sounded to be frustrated longing. His hair changed colors again: blue, red, and white. Looking up into Aurora's face, he captured her gaze with impish quicksilver eyes. "Take care of her for me, _Madame_. I'll be back for her, too."

Stepping away, he bowed with great respect and in a flash of white light and a soft 'pop,' Pyg was gone.

Aurora's knees almost gave out, and she took several stumbling steps to the settee to sit heavily upon its cushions, contemplating the little Puffskein's words.

She was pregnant? A little girl! It must have occurred earlier this week, when Severus had nullified the Contraceptive Charm upon her as he'd come into her. She'd hoped… Calling her wand to her hand, she cast the spell to check, just in case, and found Pyg's assertions had been correct: she was to be a first-time mother!

Excited, she summoned Dobby, bade him find Master Severus Snape immediately and bring him to her without delay. It seemed she and her lover needed to have a most serious discussion about their impending parenthood - and a wedding.

**X~~~~~X**

**_Malfoy Manor - Wiltshire, England_**

**_September 2, 1815 (Saturday afternoon)_**

Exactly three months from the day that they had met, Draco and Hermione wed in an extravagant affair on the lawn of Malfoy Manor, the area charmed to keep the cool, autumn weather at bay.

The rush of their nuptials had hardly given any time for a proper courtship, and was due primarily to Hermione's advancing pregnancy. She had conceived their first night together, much to the young heir of Swindon's unconcealed delight, but by this time next month, she would begin to show, and she had been absolutely adamant that she _would not_ embarrass or shame herself by waddling down the aisle. As always, Draco gave his lovely anything she desired without a fuss, enjoying watching her organize and plan with gusto. She was, frankly, rather good at it, her mind able to recall the tiniest detail, and she was a ruthless negotiator when it came to employing the event vendors. He seriously considered offering her a partnership in his company when this was all over.

Now, having not seen his fiancée in over a week (as she'd been preoccupied with the last of the wedding arrangements, and they'd observed the traditional separation before the marriage that society required), Draco was nearly knocked back by the vision that presented itself to him at the end of the long, rose petal-strewn aisle. Gods above, she was magnificent!

Simply put, her gown was a work of art: delicate, French hand-embroidered lace and silk-chiffon clung to the curves of her bodice and waist, with a train that flowed over the ground as a sea of rippling ivory. The bronze sash tied about her waist – the only sign of her royal status (which she and her parents had been granted _ceremonially_, dubbed no more than 'hereditary peers' by the current Austrian Emperor, Franz Joseph I, who paid the Grangers a generous sum to go away and take their challenge to his throne with them) – was tied into a pretty bow, hanging over her left hip. In her hands, she held a matching, hand-tied bouquet of roses, leaves, berries, and other seasonal flora. Her hair had been pulled up into a chignon that was decorated with flowers that matched her bouquet.

His heart threatened to leap from his chest. Was this stunning creature _really_ all his?

One look in her eyes and he knew that yes, Hermione had given herself unreservedly to him… and today, he would finally present her with his name, and make her his wife! He felt so completely undeserving.

As she sidled up to him, they greeted each other with matching, overjoyed expressions. He took one of her petite hands in his and kissed the back of the knuckles, bowing low to her. She curtsied back with great elegance.

"Dearly beloved," the Minister for Magic began, "We are gathered here today…"

The rest was a droning in Draco's ears, as he focused solely on his beautiful bride. His gaze roamed her petite form, resting for a moment upon her belly. His child was growing in her womb right at that moment; a purer testament to their love there never was - even more powerful an exclamation of their feelings for each other than standing before the throng of witnesses in the background to proclaim their devotion to one another for all the rest of their lives. _I love you, my Princess, for all eternity – just like I promised_, he declared with his heart and mind, even as he spoke his vows when prompted to do so.

His bride's amber-whiskey orbs returned the sentiment, and then, her lips did likewise, her voice carrying clear and strong across the silent glade. "To love, honor and cherish for all the days of my life," she finished with tears coursing down her golden-pink cheeks.

Their rings were exchanged and their personal witnesses – Blaise and Abraxas for him, Ginevra and the Grangers for her – came forward and attested to the fact that, to the best of their knowledge, all of the proper customs had been entered into freely by him and Hermione, and had been correctly observed during the ceremony. That done the five symbolic delegates stepped back once more.

"All requirements for this union having been met," the Minister asserted with a grin, "it is with great pleasure, and by the power vested with me by the Ministry of Magic, that I now pronounce you husband and wife."

Without further ado, Draco joyously swept his new wife up into his arms and kissed her soundly. Their passion for each other was, even in such a quick meeting of their lips, undeniable.

It was then that he glimpsed their green ribbon woven skillfully through the flowers in her hair. "You remembered," he teased, gently touching the silken length.

"How could I ever forget?" she wickedly smirked at him. "Finding new and inventive places to hide the ribbon is, after all, my favorite game to play with you."

As they turned to face the assembly for the first time as a legally-bound couple, their fingers firmly entwined, the Minister officially introduced them by their proper titles to the crowd – starting with hers, as the more preeminent of the two. Draco ignored the formality and irreverently leaned in to place his mouth right next to her ear and whispered his provocative thoughts. "I can't wait to see where it will appear later tonight when we are finally alone."

Taking his arm as the Minister's long-winded presentation came to an end, Hermione smiled and patted his arm fondly. "Anticipation is a wondrous aphrodisiac, husband of mine."

"Tell me about it," he chuckled, and they stepped forward and away to begin the celebration of their new life together.

* * *

**_TO BE CONCLUDED…_**

**_

* * *

_**

**AUTHOR'S NOTES:**

**Oui, ma petite Chérie**** = French for "Yes, my little sweetling/sweetheart."**

**Faro = A popular card game of the time. Read about it here: en . wikipedia . org / wiki / Faro_(card_game) **

**Guy Fawkes = A popular British hero who has a day in November commemorated to him. Read about him here: en . wikipedia . org / wiki / Guy_fawkes**

**Mon curieux = French for "my curious" - an endearment.**


	16. Ch 15: Epilogue

_**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**_

_**I was actually quite surprised to find that some readers thought that the last chapter was the end of the tale, when that was never intended! I had this chapter almost completely written out back when I'd written chapter five of this story. I tweaked it here and there, but this was always how the story was meant to end.**_

* * *

_**EPILOGUE **_

_**PART 1**_

_**Malfoy Manor - Wiltshire, England**_

_**April 10, 1816 (Wednesday night)**_

Hermione rubbed her distended belly, trying to ease a bout of nausea. Apparently, her son hadn't liked what she'd eaten for dinner. She hadn't felt this awful since the early months of her pregnancy.

Her husband's warm arms came about her, taking over. His fingers stroked the soft muslin fabric of her nightdress in circles over her skin. "Feeling any better?" he murmured gently in her ear. He'd noted her earlier distress and had just come from drawing a bath; the scent of lavender oil lingered upon his hands. "Do you want some tea?"

Relaxing into his strong embrace, Hermione shook her head. "No, thank you. Your son is just finicky. Apparently, he does not care for gravies."

Her lover kissed her temple. "He must get that from your side. You eat the blandest food on the planet, love."

She chuckled. "Yes, well, _you_ tend to enjoy the hottest spices from the Orient upon your edibles, so your taste is suspect from the beginning."

The thought of the hidden places of the world where a person might visit and hideaway made her sigh, as her mind strayed once more upon that topic which had consumed her for the better part of the last year. "I wonder where _he_ is now. Is he safe? Has he found what he was searching for yet? When will he come back to us, Draco? I miss him _so much._"

The subject of Pyg had become something of a sore spot for them both, her husband more than her in that he blamed himself for the initial magical alteration upon the little Puffskein, which was the cause of his metamorphosis. Even though he'd spent only a little bit of time with Pyg, Draco believed with all his heart that had he never stepped foot past the walls of _La Cerise_ with the tiny creature, that Pyg would never have become something greater than what he'd been born to be – and he wouldn't be suffering as a result.

The same afternoon her adopted son (for that is how Hermione considered Pyg) left on his grand adventure, Aurora had explained to them both her last discussion with the little beast-turned-boy, as well as shared her thoughts on his physical and mental advancement. Hermione had found herself agreeing with the _Madame's_ assessment that the magic upon the House had been the catalyst for Pyg's change. She never blamed Draco for this, for how could he have ever known, as he'd been completely ignorant of the spells laid out within the foundation of the House. Besides, she now believed whole-heartedly in things playing-out exactly as they were meant to, and truly thought that Pyg's change had been part of his miraculous destiny.

Draco swallowed with heavy emotion. "I'm sure he's well, love, and he'll come home to us soon."

"I pray so," she whispered, closing her eyes and sending a good thought out into the cosmos for her sweet, baby Pyg.

The ache in her tummy became more pronounced, reminding her of the type of cramping that came with her menses.

Within an hour, her water broke.

Six grueling hours later, Scorpius Abraxas Malfoy was born into the world.

To Hermione and Draco's disappointment and sorrow, Pyg had not appeared to witness the birth of his half-brother. Nor did he return for Scor's first, second, or even fifth birthday. It seemed the little Puffskein had, for lack of a better understanding, simply vanished from the face of the earth.

His parents, however, never gave up hope that someday, he would come home.

**X~~~~~X**

_**PART 2**_

_**Snape Residence – Spinner's End, England**_

_**April 11, 1824 (Thursday evening)**_

Ciara waited until her parents had retired to their room before closing her eyes and calling out in a whisper to the one person she knew wouldn't be far away on today of all days.

"Pygmalion, are you there?"

The mattress sunk a bit under his weight as her best friend, Pygmalion, simply appeared next to her with a soft 'pop,' of compressed air, lying above the covers.

Turning onto her right side, she found herself practically nose-to-nose with him. "I knew you'd come," she insisted with firmly-held faith.

His white hair matched his white grin, which was full of mischief. "I haven't missed your birthday yet, have I?"

She shoved him playfully and he shoved her back, his hair changing color to pink. "So, what new things did you see this time?" she eagerly asked, anticipating a whopper of a story. Last time, he'd traveled to Egypt and spoke to _THE_ Sphinx. Lucky devil!

He told her of a wondrous land called Greece, which was to the East, just past Italy. "It's a busy place, Ci, with lots of ships coming in and out of their many harbors. They speak a different language and the regular people wear the softest clothes – like the things you wear only they're not fu-fu frilly."

Ciara indelicately snorted. "I hardly enjoy wearing such girly things, Pygmalion. You _know_ I'd rather have breeches, but mother and father would blush my hide if I dared." She rolled onto her back and petulantly whined. "I wish I were a boy! You get to run around like a loon and no one cares if you climb trees or spread your legs wide."

Her friend chuckled low, and the sound hinted that he knew something she didn't, but he didn't elaborate. His mane turned blue as he tugged on a lock of her long, chestnut brown-black hair. "Stupid, if you were a boy, I wouldn't like you as much. Now, do you want to hear the rest of the story or not?"

Reaching up, she entwined their fingers to keep him from pulling her hair again. "Of course, tell me everything!"

She was having a hard time keeping her eyes open after an hour of him droning on about his adventures in the lands that, according to Pygmalion, birthed great people who were responsible for art and government and thinking. "Thinking?" Ciara was skeptical. "No one _invented_ thinking. It just… happened!"

Her companion gave her a look that told her to be quiet so he could continue. She clamped her lips together and listened.

"…and a long time ago, they believed in many strange gods and goddesses that lived in the sky and granted people wishes sometimes," he finally ended his tale.

Her eyes widened, her curiosity piqued. "How extraordinary! What kind of wishes?" she breathlessly asked. Maybe she could appeal to these gods and goddesses and ask them to make her a boy so she could wear breeches instead of petticoats.

Her best friend shrugged. "Well, for example, they made people fall in love. Like the Greek sculptor, Pygmalion – who I'm named after - and his wife, Galatea. They had to turn her into a human first for him, because she was a statue he'd carved."

Ciara drew in a sharp breath. "_Incroyable!_" she sighed in her grand-mere's native language.

Pygmalion nodded with assurance, his hair changing to yellow in a flash. "Galatea was the _most_ perfect woman in the world and he loved her from the moment he finished shaping her and looked upon her face. He asked the Goddess of Love to make her real for him, and she did! They fell in love and kissed and had lots of babies. But the really important part of that story is that Pygmalion carved out his own destiny! He believed so much in what he was doing, that the Great Lady of Love gave him what he most wished for: a life together with the woman of his dreams. I think that's rather neat."

"Hmmm, so you're named for him, this Sculptor?" she asked around a yawn, putting a hand over her mouth as was polite.

Pygmalion gave her a mysterious smile, his tresses shifting to pink again. "Actually, my first name used to be Pygmy, because I was so small when I was littler, but when I heard Pygmalion's tale, I decided I wanted to be like him, so I changed my own name, all by myself!" He seemed particularly proud of that fact.

It was so hard for Ciara to keep her eyes open. "You did? You're amazingly brave, my Pygmalion!" She suppressed another yawn behind her hand. "I wish I could change my name and make myself a boy. Do you think this goddess will grant me my wish, too?" This time, her yawn was loud and long. "Oh, I'm _so_ tired and it's late. Can you tell me more later?"

Her best friend squeezed her fingers once – a comforting gesture. "Sorry, I forgot how young you are and that we're already past your bedtime."

"You're not that much older than me!" she drowsily protested.

Pygmalion's hair altered to red and he gave that queer chuckle again – the one that said he knew something more than her – but he didn't reply, instead snuggling closer and putting his arms about her, holding her to his chest, stroking her hair as Ciara always adored. "Sleep, Ci. I'll watch over you. Just remember: you can't ever tell anyone about me. It's our secret, right?"

Settling down to the sound of his solidly beating heart, inhaling the scent that was uniquely Pygmalion's – spicy exotic oranges – Ciara gave herself over to her dreams. "Right, our secret" she murmured.

The last thing she remembered was hearing Pygmalion whisper against her hair as he placed a kiss upon her head. "Happy birthday, my Galatea."

**X~~~~~X**

_**PART 3**_

_**Diagon Alley - London, England**_

_**June 3, 1836 (Friday night)**_

Ciara fiddled with her hair, nervous as a cat with his tail too near a rocking chair. Her best friend, Evelyn Zabini, smacked her hand and fixed the chignon so it was perfect once more. "Be still, Ci! You'll ruin the style."

"I can't help it!" Ciara protested, forcing her hands to be still in her lap. "It's our debut and I'm not even sure I'll know any of the men downstairs! Most of them are probably from Hogwarts – not Beauxbatons, where you and I were enrolled - and perhaps there are even a few from Durmstrang. I know Scorpius will be here, because Aunt Hermione confirmed it for me just last week, but I know he hasn't come for _me_." She gave her best girl friend a pointed look, which Evvie ignored (although she did prettily blush, the rosy shine to her mocha cheeks making her positively radiate with happiness). "Thank all the gods my father has been banned from the premises by mother, however. It would be a terrible night to have his dark, scowling countenance scaring off all prospects for _any_ of us."

"I've heard that Scorpius's cousin, the _very_ handsome Andrus Nott will be in attendance," Evelyn confirmed as she turned and took a last primp into the looking glass, "although I do believe he's already set his sights upon one of the Potter twins." She made a disappointed moue in the mirror. "Shame, that."

Ciara snorted indelicately. "I hope for his sake he chooses Lily, as Abigail is a spitfire."

Evelyn shook her head, fixing a stray bit of hair that had fallen from its pin. "Yes, well, our 'spitfire' firmly has her eye fixed upon my cousin, Louis."

Ciara's dark brown eyes went wide, and she turned to her friend with marked surprise. "Hasn't he already made his way through this house's compliment of companions, and in less than a year?"

The other witch hummed her acknowledgement and grinned. "He is _quite_ the naughty boy, yes. I heard that Uncle William was very similarly tempered until he met Aunt Fleur, however, so the apple doesn't fall far from the tree in Lou's case."

Shuddering at such unfaithful frivolity, Ciara turned back to give her reflection a final once-over. "I hope he and Abigail match and he doesn't plead suit for me. I'm not much of an opinion for well-used goods."

Her friend reached out and smoothed down the back of Ciara's long, Parisian silk dress, assuring it lay properly. "I wouldn't fret, Ci. Some man of worth will present himself to you this summer. I predicted it, after all, when I divined the tea this afternoon." She paused, leaned forward and pressed their cheeks together. The two women – best girl friends since childhood, thanks to their parents' affiliations - stared into the mirror at each other with abiding hope and tender feeling. "You are the _belle_ of the ball tonight in this lovely two-toned rose-colored frock you wear," her friend complimented her with all sincerity.

Ciara blushed and playfully nudged Evvie in the ribs. "I think you look equally as stunning in your layered Italian ruffles. The warm bronze amplifies your beauty, and the synched waist makes you appear diminutive." She turned and placed a friendly kiss on her friend's cheek. "_Ma soeur_, every man tonight will vie for _you_ - Scorpius most assuredly amongst them."

Her beautiful, mocha-skinned friend held her breath, her gaze reflecting hope and desire for the young man in question. "Do you truly think so?"

A firm nod. "Absolutely," Ciara confirmed with all earnestness. "He's the love of your life - has been since we were all children, and our parents gathered us together for holidays. It's time you two settled what's always been between you."

Her friend beamed, but very quickly, the smile dropped as a thought entered her mind. "And what of you? Oh, are you sure you're ready to do this, _ma soeur_? I know how you feel about the subject of entertaining a man after… well…"

The tightening in Ciara's chest was immediate, and she moved away, turning her attention to the back of her friend's dress in a reciprocal straightening gesture. "I know you think I made him up, but Pygmalion _was _real, Evvie. I swear it to you. I haven't gone mad."

Three months ago, when they'd begun their training in the House, she'd finally confessed about her childhood secret to Evelyn. Her friend had been skeptical of Pygmalion's existence from the start, simply because she'd never seen him appear in person in all the time they'd been playmates. Despite that, she'd seen how Ciara had suffered over the years since his disappearance, and for that reason alone, Evvie had been willing to dance around the uncomfortable subject, only occasionally questioning whether the boy had been merely an imaginary friend (and then only when Ciara had set her heels in to avoid discussing a future without Pygmalion in it).

The fact was, Ciara believed whole-heartedly in the boy who'd been her true best friend - so much so that she'd never once given up hope to see him again someday, even putting her life's pursuits and the possibility of a love match with another on-hold for the last two years, since her graduation. It had only been to appease Evvie, who was desperate to hook Scorpius Malfoy before his attention wandered, that Ciara had agreed to join _La Cerise_ at all.

Thinking about her clandestine playmate again brought butterflies to Ciara's stomach…

Her earliest memories were of Pygmalion and she playing together in secret, sometimes in her room, sometimes in quiet areas of the house when her parents were preoccupied, and still other times while running around the vast gardens of the Manor at Wiltshire when her parents would drag her there as they spent time with the Malfoys, their dearest friends, and she'd tried to avoid Scorpius, who always picked on her for being a girl.

At six, Pygmalion had taught her Wizard's Chess in her father's study, at eight to swim in the ocean without fear, and at nine to waltz in the attic of her family's home. Randomly, he'd appeared to her at night to tuck her in and hold her as she'd slept, keeping her childish night terrors at bay with his calming presence and that odd purring noise that rumbled from his chest.

The last time she'd seen him had been her tenth birthday. He'd lain in bed with her, as he'd always done at night and especially on her birthday, and they'd talked for a while as she'd digested her cake and recounted for him all of the lovely presents she'd received that day. It was only as she'd been ready to drift off to sleep that he'd dropped the awful news upon her: he was going away again, and this time, he wasn't sure when he'd be back. He'd said he was close to discovering a way to stay with her for always, but time was running out. As a child, she hadn't understood how final such words had been, but as an adult looking back, she could recall now how nervous and frightened he'd seemed.

He'd taken her first kiss from her that night. Oh, she'd kissed Scorpius on the cheek plenty of times, but this was a different sort of kiss. Pygmalion had told her to close her eyes, and when she had, he'd pressed his warm, soft lips to hers. It was innocent, as chaste as one could get, and yet there had been a world of feeling contained in that guileless kiss. Now, in retrospect, she realized that it had been Pygmalion's way of saying goodbye.

There hadn't been a day that had gone by since that he wasn't in her thoughts, however. He'd even invaded her dreams at night as she'd gotten progressively older, admittedly in an increasingly more romantic and sexual manner by the time she'd reached her seventeenth birthday. He'd changed in those dreams, filled into the man he'd been meant to become – handsome and gentle in temper, with just the perfect touch of dominating male to make her shiver with delight. There were times upon her awakening that she would swear to the lingering touch of his lips and hands upon her – in her. Oh, the naughty things she dreamed about him… She could never tell a soul, for she would be marked wanton for sure!

Perhaps Evvie was right, though, as she considered her position here, just moments away from debuting at the most prestigious gentlemen's club in all of Europe…

"But," Ciara forced herself to admit aloud, "I also recognize that you are right to warn me of the folly of holding onto feelings for him when there has been no word of him for ten long years. It's quite possible that his silence all this time could mean that he's… well, that's he's… he's no longer with us." She choked on the thought. "If I'm to have a future, as you correctly remind me, I must look ahead, not behind."

Despite her brave words, tears hotly prickled behind her eyelids, fell down her cheeks, and a small sob escaped her lips.

She'd promised herself she wouldn't do this again. She'd sworn just three days past that she would try to let him go soon… and yet Ciara realized in that moment that she didn't know how. She had loved Pygmalion all her life. How did one simply discard such a soul-deep connection? And what if he wasn't really gone forever? What if he _did _come back, only to find her already married and with child? Something deep inside rebelled at the thought of allowing another man to touch her. _I'm his!_ screamed in the vaults of her mind, echoing down into her heart, taking hold and refusing to let go.

"Ci," Evvie gently pulled her back into the present. "We don't have to go down there. We can pass over the event. The Potter twins will still debut. We can try another time – or never, if you decide this isn't what you want. I don't mind. I want you to be happy first and foremost, and if you're not ready to take this step, then I'll stand with you until you are."

Grabbing onto her courage, Ciara firmly shook her head and composed herself once more, reaching for a handkerchief atop her boudoir to wipe at her eyes. Thank goodness her face paint had already been sealed to prevent its smearing! "No, I _won't _delay _your _happiness a moment longer! You have waited too long to meet your destiny with Scorpius, and you have done so for the last two years for my sake alone. I have been too selfish, _ma soeur_. Tonight, that ends."

Ever supportive of each other, the two women helped finish each other's preparations. Evvie gave her the finishing touch of tying about her head the beautiful, gold-gilded leather mask that her father had gifted to her from a specialty shop in Italy. Her friend touched the embossed leather flowers on the side of the mask, their color matching her gown perfectly. "It is a stunning piece," the witch smiled. "Very feminine and very much you, Ci - now that you have outgrown your desire to play at being a boy."

The two chuckled over such silliness from their youth.

Ciara helped her friend into her own mask – a leather cat's face made by the same artist, a gift from Mr. Zabini to his daughter. "And yours matches your personality – and your dress – perfectly as well, for you are as mysterious and beautiful as Bast herself," she compliment Evvie as she tied the ribbons carefully about her friend's head.

When they were ready, the two young women took a final glance in the mirror, and then hugged each other. "Luck be with us both!" Evvie wished, and Ciara enthusiastically nodded.

They reached the top of the stairs, standing off to the side and out of sight of the crowd gathered in the Entrance Hall a moment later. The murmur of voices engaged in conversation from the assemblage below was rather loud, indicating that the place was packed. Ciara assumed her mother, still the House _Madame_ all these years later (despite her numerous attempts to retire), had opened the Ballroom up to allow for a free flow of air, dispersing the stifling body heat.

Abigail and her twin, Lily, appeared at Ciara's side a second later. Despite not attending the same school (the Potters had both gone to Hogwarts), there was no animosity of any kind between the four women, as they had all been occasional childhood playmates (often the Potters were on the same guest list as the Snapes and Zabinis to attend special holidays at Malfoy Manor). Besides, the quartet had spent the last three months in training together with the Abbess, and had become fast friends as a result.

"Ready?" gentle Lily asked, nervously adjusting her layered chiffon, pastel green-colored gown and leather face covering – a white half-mask with lace, embellished with a light spring leaf pattern, white ceramic roses and green ceramic berries across the top. Her pale blonde hair was up in a lightly-held up-do, showing off the back of her long, attractive neck.

Ciara nodded. "Your gowns and masks – they are simply wonderful!"

"You both are visions," the younger twin kindly returned. "The pink brings out your cheeks, Ci, and the rosy-bronze, your skin tone, Evvie."

Abigail, ever the more dominant of the siblings, took her sister's arm to restrain her from making a fuss. She had chosen a silk-chiffon, sapphire blue gown to compliment her features, her hair left to trail over her right shoulder, down over her bosom in ringlets. Her mask was a thing of great extravagance – a half-face dyed leather piece (the color perfectly matching her gown) with blue feathers and silver embellishments. "We four shall be the debut of the century, for sure," she proclaimed, a twinkle in her green eyes.

Their mentor and instructor – Ciara's mother – appeared from down the hallway, bustling forward, all business. Despite the fact she'd earned more than enough to retire from the position, she had remained to be the _Madame_ of the House under the direct request of its owners, the Malfoys. She lived off-property, however, in Ciara's family's home in Spinner's End, leaving the caretaking of the House's needs in her absence to Dobby and his trusted staff of elves (who had simultaneously proven themselves more than capable protectors and servants).

"Are you ready, my little ones?" she asked, her accent returning in her nervousness. It was one of her mother's quirks.

Four heads nodded in unison.

"Excellent! Then, I will escort you one at a time down the stairs, and the Keeper will announce you," she explained. "You will each be passed off to a trusted hand - all except you, my Ci, as _I _will be your guardian for the night's endeavor. Once all four of you are properly announced, your guardians may begin making your introductions to the potential beaus. Are there any last minute changes to your aliases that I need to inform The Keeper of before he pronounces you to the host?"

Everyone shook their heads.

"Good, good. Then, I shall begin with you, my dear Abigail, then Lily, then Evelyn, and finally Ciara." She held her arm out to Abigail. "Shall we, my dear?"

Abigail released her hold on her sister, stepped back and took a deep breath, let it out slow, and then laid her arm elegantly across Aurora's. The two moved to the head of the stairs, and began down. The voice of The Keeper – Evvie's uncle, and the same man who'd held the position for nearly twenty years now – rang out true in the quieting room below.

"Miss Sapphire."

Ah, now her choice in gown and mask made perfect sense, Ciara thought.

A hush followed the first pronouncement, and within moments, Aurora had returned. She took Lily's arm. The younger twin gave them all a tremulous smile, and then she was off as well.

"_Mademoiselle Fleur de Lis._"

"A give-away, that one," Evelyn whispered, for everyone knew that the French royal symbol meant, "Lily Flower."

"Your turn next," Ciara whispered, and the two women clung to each other, their anticipation thick.

Before she took the House Mother's arm, her friend turned to her once more, biting her bottom lip with uncertainty. "Scorpius will _definitely_ notice me, _oui?_"

Ciara nodded most assuredly. "Absolutely. He's totally smitten with you, Evvie. Everyone knows."

"Too true," Ciara's mother chimed in, taking Evelyn's arm in hers. "The young man in question completely ignored the Potter girls, his eyes firmly fixed on the stairs, waiting. It is no question as to whom he intends to court, _Cherie_."

Evelyn let out a tiny squeal of delight behind her lips, and then quickly composed herself. "Yes, well, let's give him a run for it, shall we?" With that, they went on their way.

"_Le Chat Parisien,_" the Keeper called from below.

Nervously pacing back and forth as the final candidate for the evening, Ciara waited until her mother reappeared on the stairs and came to her. They reached for each other, and her _mama_ carefully embraced her, conscientious of not ruining her daughter's appearance at the same time as offering her comfort. "I am very proud of you for agreeing to take this step, _bébé._ For the last several years, you have been withdrawn. I have seen it. Something saddens your heart. It is not an easy thing for a woman to put aside her suffering and fears, and to believe that something better awaits her. It takes incredible courage. No matter the outcome of tonight, I am pleased you have shown such initiative."

Ciara deeply inhaled and let it back out. "Down those stairs a new destiny awaits me, _mama_. I must be willing to embrace it if I wish to find my happiness again."

"_Oui, mon noir._ Life is about taking chances." She fondly caressed Ciara's jaw. "As I did with your father to beget you."

Stepping back and taking her mother's arm, Ciara tried to quell the pixies rioting in her stomach. Something was going to happen for her tonight, one way or the other. She prayed for the strength to see it through. "Guide me as you ever have, _mama_."

The two walked to the top of the stairs together without another word. Trying to control her quickly beating heart, Ciara swallowed hard and held her chin up. No matter what, she would be poised, calm, and charming, as her many lessons before this night had prepared her to behave.

"The Lady Galatea," the announcement rang through the hushed room.

Ciara and her mother took the stairs one at a time, and she focused on keeping her footing, on appearing regal, on doing her family proud. A good first impression was everything.

As they approached the bottom of the stairs, she noted the other three debutants standing to the side with their guardians at their sides; Evelyn's mother for her, Aunt Hermione for Lily, and Abigail's mother at her arm. The eyes of the crowd seemed locked upon her, and every face was masked, but none of the men, aside from Scorpius (wearing a conspicuous, leather dragon-faced mask), and Scorpius's cousin, Andrus (donning a black half-mask that had an embossed snake writhing across the entire right side) were familiar. She didn't spy Uncle Harry or Uncle Draco in the crowd, and she knew her father would not be there.

She was shocked by the sheer number of available bachelors in the room, many of them gazing at her with distinct interest.

Well, it seemed she was in for a long night, like it or not.

**X~~X**

By the second hour of introductions, Ciara believed she'd met every suitor in the room at least once (minus Scorpius, who stuck at Evvie's side, glowering at the competition, and Andrus, who stayed near Abigail, but who's eyes constantly followed Lily when he didn't think anyone was looking, and Louis, who hovered around Lily, but watched Abigail with the same intensity) and was thoroughly exhausted from the effort of fronting false cheer. Why had she believed again that tonight would hold something special for her? Thus far, none of the bachelors had interested her in the slightest. They were too tall or too short, too aggressive or too passive, too polite or too rude. She hadn't agreed to a single first interview with any of them. Perhaps her standards were too high?

Oddly, her mother didn't seem in the least bit surprised by her behavior. In fact, she seemed not to be concerned, too preoccupied with looking about the room as if seeking out someone or something, and frustratingly not seeing it.

Needing a break, she improvised a lie that would allow her to step out for a bit on her own. "If you'll excuse me, gentlemen, _Madame_," she requested of her chaperone and the ring of men surrounding her. "I have need to take leave." Everyone in polite society understood that to mean she was would seek out the water closet. It was the worst excuse in the cosmos, but the one most likely to allow her some alone time. Disentangling herself from her mother's arm, she made her way out of the room and down the narrow, adjoining hall towards her destination, where she proceeded to sit in front of the vanity mirror for a good ten minutes, trying to work up the energy and bravado necessary to continue the evening's farce for another hour.

When she felt there was absolutely no further delay that could be legitimately tolerated, she readjusted her mask, smoothed down her dress a final time, and forced her feet back towards the Grand Ballroom.

As she returned, a man she hadn't remembered meeting stood in the dead center of the room, in direct line of her intended path. It appeared as if she was his intended target of interest from the way he candidly stared at her as she made her way back inside. Clad in a very well-tailored waist coat of grey-blue, a vest of light gold, a pair of white breeches, black cravat tied into a bow at his throat, and matching shoes that glimmered, he was the paragon of men's fashion for the day. His dark blond hair was cut short, however, and he bore no sideburns or facial hair, which was in direct counter to the day's trend. His skin was nicely tanned a golden hue, from what little she could see of it under and around his striking mask – leather shaped into the mien of a wolf, painted arctic grey and white with gold highlights. The coloring of his clothing and his face covering brought out the beauty of his grey eyes…

… eyes that were evocatively familiar.

_No! No, that is just… wishful thinking_, she firmly told herself so as not to raise her hopes, for fear of having them crushed when the man revealed himself not to be the one she'd been waiting for. _I am being silly and fanciful._

The wizard patiently watched her come closer and then stepped intentionally in front of her as she made to go around. He executed a formal bow with all respect accorded to her station, forcing her to come to a halt less than an arm's length away to avoid their collision.

His smooth movement brought back memories of waltzing about an empty sitting room as a child.

_It couldn't be!_

Foregoing a proper introduction, the potential suitor took the initiative to greet her, including reaching for her hand without her or her chaperone's express permission. When his fingers lightly touched upon her tips to bring her knuckles up to his mouth for a polite kiss, magic sparked between them, causing Ciara's heart to pulse in her mouth.

"I told you I would return for you," he murmured gently, his voice a deep, husky tone that made her insides flip around even as he took another step forward, moving into her private space. His gaze through the eyelets of his mask dropped to her pink-painted lips and his lids lowered with blatant desire. "_My_ Galatea."

Trembling with suppressed emotion, Ciara felt unexpected tears slip down her face, staining the underside of her mask. Was it possible? Could this really be _him_? "Pygmalion?" she whispered, afraid that just by saying his name, he would disappear again.

"You are quite late,_ bébé,_" her mother jibed at the gentleman, cleverly inserting her presence into the conversation, stepping alongside Ciara and purposefully taking her arm. Glancing at the woman out of the corner of her eye, she noted that her _mama_ was looking up at the young man – Pygmalion, it _had _to be - with clear recognition and… was that, relief? "And where have you been, young sir? I expected you _much _sooner – years so, in fact."

Pygmalion's smile was hidden by his mask, but she could feel it and see it crease the corners of his eyes through the slits, even as he bowed low to Aurora and kissed the back of her hand in greeting as well. "I have been, as you have no doubt guessed, _Madame_, searching for that thing we last discussed upon your balcony the morning my mother and father walked about the rose garden together. You may be delighted to know I discovered it – and just in the nick of time. The repercussions of such a postponement, however, have taken me many long years to recover and to regain my bearings. It is only recently that I have been able to be up and about, in fact. As for where I was tonight… First, I had to stop at my parents' home to inform my father of my return. Then, after learning of my Ci's debut and where my mother and half-brother could be found, I hurried to ready myself to attend your gala affair. And finally, I stopped at your home in Spinner's End and had a rather frank talk with your husband. All of that together is responsible for my delay." He bowed again to both ladies. "I apologize for missing the official pronouncements."

Her mother gave him the once over. "Did you now – speak with my husband, that is? And pray tell, what did you two sly devils discuss?" she dryly teased with an easy manner, as if she and this potential suitor were old friends.

His gaze eloquently swung back to Ciara. "His permission to court your daughter," he explained, his gaze darkening with desire as he looked down upon her.

In a move guaranteed to disqualify him from any auction or solicitation within the House, he removed his mask in front of the whole of the room, showing the world his face.

In the bearing of the man that gazed upon her with love, Ciara saw the impression of the boy she'd once known. "Pygmalion!" she cried with joy, throwing herself into his arms, placing a kiss (a quick, but unquestionable declaration) upon his lips right there in a room full of the wizarding _haut ton_, uncaring of the repercussions. Her tears flowed down her cheeks in hot rivulets.

Arms that were as warm and comforting as she remembered came about her, holding her close, cradling her to his heart. "I've walked the world to find a way to be with you, my Ci," he told her, speaking with tender feeling, his hands raking through her hair, taking it out of its chignon and possessively fingering through the freed strands. "I've loved you from the moment I heard your tiny life beginning in your mother's womb, I watched you grow and regretted leaving your side, but now it's finally possible for us to be together. I want you for my own - no more waiting." He pulled the bow on her mask, and tugged, removing it from her person in one fell swoop, handing it and his mask off to her mother – assuring she was now as equally disqualified as he. Truthfully, Ciara could have cared less; all she'd ever wanted was right here, right now, and he'd confessed to loving her with an equal intensity as she felt for him!

From behind, Aurora chuckled with great amusement. "You, _Monsieur_, are still the same precocious boy I have ever adored, and I am pleased to know you have found your destiny at last, my sweet Pyg – although, I admit, I am eager for the details as to how you accomplished such a miracle at long last." Ciara turned her head slightly and noted her mother giving him another shrewdly roving examination.

"Later, I will tell all," he promised. "Now, I intend upon kidnapping your daughter - with your permission, of course?"

"_Oui,_" her mother made a shooing motion with one graceful sweep of her hand. "This, I have been expecting since the afternoon you informed me of my condition as a new mother, and required my protection of my daughter for your eventual return. Your hair changes that morning -_ bleu, rouge et blanc_…" She gave him a shrewd smirk and fondly patted his arm. "Well, _l'amour _is in the blood of we French, you well know. We have a keen nose for it."

Pygmalion laughed and bent his neck low in silent concession to Ciara's mother. "You are, as my father has ever been so fond of pointing out, the Queen of your Dominion, _Madame._"

Aurora reached out and grabbed her daughter's hand, kissing it. "Your destiny awaits, _bébé. _Go with your parents' blessings."

Placing his mouth to her ear, Pygmalion bent to wrap his arms about Ciara's waist. "No more delays. Hold tight, beloved."

She did, and with a 'pop' and the feeling of warm air passing through her every layer of skin, they Disapparated.

**X~~X**

He took her to her bedroom upstairs, bespelled the walls and door for their complete privacy with a negligent wave of his hand and a few, softly spoken words, and then his mouth was on hers and nothing seemed to matter anymore.

Ciara threw herself into the kiss she had waited her whole life for. It was everything she'd ever dreamed – passionate, loving, and desperate never to end. His tongue slipped between the seam of her mouth, opening her up to his exploration, teasing, coaxing hers to come and play. His lips were fire and ice combined, tingling her spine as they moved down her throat to seduce her thoroughly. "You are mine," he repeatedly whispered in her ear, against her burning skin, into her mouth as he claimed her thoroughly.

In a blink, her dress was unbuttoned and slipped from her arms and waist, to pool at her feet. His jacket and vest were undone, his cravat slipped free of his neck, his shirt opened and discarded into the growing pile of fabric on the thickly-carpeted rug. That a man was taking such liberties and undressing her should have been scandalous, as no male had dared look at her nude, adult form before, much less touch it. However, with Pygmalion, Ciara felt instinctively shameless, as if their touching were the natural order of things. Gone were shyness and the polite mannerisms that a debutante was meant to maintain. Love guided her conscience and moved her body.

Their bare skin touched as he unfastened and discarded her bustle. The temperature of his skin against hers was almost unnaturally hot, and he was hard, every inch of him stretched with taut muscle. Her fingertips glided over his flesh, even as his teeth nipped at her pulse. He touched her everywhere, moved as if he already knew exactly what she liked and craved. "I've dreamed of this in _excruciating_ detail, even as I slept to recover my strength," he whispered in her ear. "Did you feel our minds touch, my Ci? Do you remember our shared dreams?"

Her thoughts were scattered, and it took her a few moments to accept that such magic as he'd spoken of could actually be possible. "How could you accomplish such a thing? Surely, not with Legilimency?" she asked between panting whimpers as his fingers caressed with wild devotion. "All these years, you were really in my dreams? Touching me like… like that?"

"Like _this_," he demonstrated by dipping his head and taking one cherry-colored nipple into his mouth. Nursing upon her in so intimate a manner made her spine arch of its own accord, thrusting her breast deeper into his mouth. She dug her nails into his shoulders for purchase and threw her head back with wild abandon, reveling in the delicious sensation. Her _amante_ groaned as his hands slipped past her lingerie, inching it from her hips, allowing gravity to take it and baring her to his lustful stare. "I'm going to do to you everything we've dreamed together and more, beloved."

Picking her up, he dragged her to the bed and laid her down atop the goose-down coverlet. It was so soft, in direct contrast to his rigid body as he shed the last of their clothing with hurried, almost expert touches and lay atop her.

Pressing his hand to her belly, he rubbed across her womb, and his hair abruptly changed color to pink, and that odd trilling-purring noise erupted from his chest, just as it had when he'd been a child. There was no time to question the seemingly uncontrollable phenomena that she'd always taken for granted before as being somehow intentional, however, as suddenly his fingers were dipping between her legs and touching her intimately, diverting her attention to the sensations he inspired instead. His hair shifted color again – red this time – even as his head dipped to join his naughty hand.

She practically came off the bed as his tongue swept through her center seam, flicking and sucking upon the tiny pearl of her _pêche_. Liquid desire melted her lower body, set her aflame, and with a gasp, she cried out, feeling the most wonderful clenching warmth throughout her womb. "More," she begged her lover, and he supplied, bringing her to culmination by lovingly lathing her slit, penetrating her with a single finger and stroking a spot on the upper inside of her body that caused sparks behind her eyelids to ignite.

Even as she was relaxing from her petite climax, her wizard shifted atop her to reclaim her lips. "I love you, my Ciara," he whispered as he lowered his hips and without delay, slid his solid staff between her legs, entering her very slowly, very carefully until he was buried within her to the hilt. His hair had shifted color in a frenzy of uncontrolled action throughout the breaching of her virginity – white, blue, red, pink, purple, and returning to and settling upon red. There was no pain, as she'd been told to expect, only the oddest sensation of being stretched to accommodate their joining, and she suspected he'd done something to prevent her from feeling the discomfort associated with losing one's innocence.

"_Gods!_" he hissed into her shoulder, shuddering as he immediately found release, pumping his hips with each explosion of his seed, moaning against her skin. He didn't stop moving even as his body regained control, continuing to arc into her with long, thick strokes, his mouth biting down on the lee of her shoulder and neck as he slowly built her need up into a pulsing, reckless lust. One of his hands cupped her hip, pulled her up off the bed to create an angle for his thrusts that sent her spiraling into the heavens on dizzying wings. Everything within her coiled and released, coiled and released, stealing her breath, making her heart beat into her gasping mouth. The flood of his second orgasm filled her, and around a deep, masculine groan of satisfaction, he bit down harder, marking her indelibly as his.

They declared their love for each other even as a golden rush of light and magical sensation gripped them, intensifying the feelings of the moment, bringing them both again in a flash of rapturous ecstasy.

Had he done that? she would later wonder. But no, he'd seemed as surprised by the magic as she had been.

Giving and taking all the rest of the night, Pygmalion taught her how to love with her body just as thoroughly as he had with her heart all those years ago, relentless in their coupling. He'd admitted in a whisper in her ear, even as he'd entered her the second time, that he'd been as much a virgin as she. That they had been each other's first and only had bonded them up even tighter into the other, allowed them to explore the art of love making, discovering together the wonder and beauty of the act.

Hours later, exhausted, sweaty, and thoroughly sated, he finally allowed them respite, both of them too unused to the physical exertion. Holding her to him just as he had when they'd been children, he touched her hair, ran fingers down her arm, lulling them both into a state of blissful relaxation.

"You're not human, are you?" she finally worked up the courage to ask, her fingernails absently scraping across his left peck with light strokes.

Her _amante_ took a deep breath. "I am now," was what he settled upon finally. "But I seem to have retained some instincts and abilities from my previous life."

Ciara considered what he _hadn't_ said, however. "That's why you went away, wasn't it? You were looking for a way to… change… so we could be together."

A gentle kiss alighted atop her forehead. "Yes."

Gnawing on her bottom lip, she mulled his words over. "So, in a way, you _were_ like the Pygmalion and Galatea of myth, only you were both of them combined – the destiny you carved out for yourself was to become human," she realized.

He tugged her hair in that familiar way he'd always done in the past. "Yes, but in a way, _you _are also my Galatea, Ci: my perfect woman, whom I loved even as I helped shape you."

That gave her significant pause. He _had _been a very important part of her growth, hadn't he? He'd taught her how to play freely, to enjoy challenges, to love unreservedly. He'd taught her to read and to love the classics, how to appreciate music, how to give herself over to frivolity and laughter. Everything they'd ever done together as children had led her to become the woman she was today. He'd _always_ been _her_ Pygmalion, hadn't he? "I love you," she proclaimed, hugging him fiercely and lifting her head to kiss him with all of her abiding feelings. "No matter your origins, I love you with my soul, Pygmalion. I always have."

His hair flashed through a rainbow of colors to alight on red again. Slipping his fingers down over her abdomen, he rubbed in circles, and then quite suddenly stilled. He tilted his head, as if he were listening for something, and then his head jerked back and he looked down at her, at first with dawning surprise, and then slowly, a small, almost arrogant smile crawled up his cheek. "You've conceived."

Ciara stopped breathing. "What?"

He flipped her onto her back and reentered her body, as enthusiastic now as he'd been their first coupling, hours previous. "It seems your father and I will have to have another discussion sometime soon. It's only proper to ask his permission first, I understand."

"Permission? Pygmalion, what are you-?"

He began thrusting away then, and directly, Ciara lost track of all thoughts and time as she gave herself over to her beloved once more.

A month later, they were officially married.

**X~~~~~X**

_**PART 4**_

_**Malfoy Manor - Wiltshire, England**_

_**December 24, 1844 (Tuesday night)**_

"Tell us the story again, papa! You know - the one about your _change!_"

Hermione watched as her daughter-in-law, Ciara, passed the hand of their seven (almost eight) year old son, Alexander, into her husband's, giving him a smirk that silently mocked: "I told you so."

The recap of Pyg's transformation from magical creature to human had become something of a Christmas tradition over the last four years; perhaps because the story of true miracles was something everyone - _especially_ impressionable wizarding children - enjoyed hearing.

His dark golden-blond hair turning black, Pygmalion Malfoy (as he'd legally changed his name, once she and Draco officially adopted him just days after his return to their life) rudely stuck his tongue out at his wife and then made up for it by blowing her a kiss. Honestly, the two of them were even more lovely-doves than Scorpius and Evvie, who were working on child number three now!

"Yes, let's hear the tale again," Evvie prompted, taking her cuddly, six-year old daughter, Azaria, into her lap. "I still can't believe it, even after all these years!"

Next to her on the sofa, Scorpius was cradling their four-year old son, Ladon. The man laughed. "Imagine how I feel, never knowing I'd had a brother out there - and that he'd started out as just a runt ball of fluff! It still gives me the hivvies thinking about it!"

The two men – who'd taken to each other as if they truly were blood siblings once Pyg had come home – gave each other mirror grins.

"Yes, yes, fine," Pyg resignedly agreed, conjuring a loveseat with a snap of his fingers and settling himself and Alex down into it. His hair was an adorable shade of rose, indicating that he was embarrassed. Next to him, the son mimicked his father's ability, having established just two years ago that he was following right along in Pyg's footsteps; making him officially the world's second Metamorphmagus (his father deemed the first). "Are we all ready, then?" he asked, looking about to assure everyone who was interested was settled down to listen.

Hermione glanced about; everyone was relaxing back to enjoy the tale.

Ginny, whose hair was streaked with white now, and Blaise, who kept his head shaved on account of his going bald at an early age, took up the remaining two spots to Scorpius' left, leaving her parents and the Potters to occupy the larger, second couch in its entirety, their vast family growing as Lily and Andrus were expecting their second, and Abigail and Louis their first (the twins wore pregnancy well, despite the obvious discomfort of carrying around such weight upon their middles). A pepper-haired Harry (whose hair was so thick that it seemed impossible that he'd go bald) and Luna (who showed absolutely no signs of aging aside from some small smile lines about her eyes) gathered two of their grandchildren onto their knees, settling back to hear the fabulous tale of Pygmalion's transformation once again.

Severus, whose glossy, white hair was gathered back into a short tail, and Aurora, who matched her husband's coloring, took up the two cozy seats before the fire, their aging bones needing the warmth, hands clasped tightly to the other. The years had begun to unkindly show in the old _Madame's_ face and about her neck, the same as Severus. The depth of their feelings for each other, however (still so evident in how closely they sat and how she leaned her head on his shoulder), only proved that love transcended the physical.

Ciara moved a chair between her mother and her husband, so she could be close to both.

Theodore, whose face had narrowed and lined with age, and Astoria, who was now pleasantly plump from a combination of giving birth to five rowdy offspring (only Andrus, her eldest, was in attendance) and a healthy addiction to chocolate bon-bons, took chairs next to each other near the back, their two grandchildren sitting with the others on the floor, gathering around Pyg, their cherub faces lighting with excitement. Hermione and Draco had tentatively allowed his half-brother back into their lives years ago after a _very_ long, emotionally-difficult road to forgiveness for them all (mostly, this was accomplished by Theo _sincerely_ apologizing for his part in causing harm between them all, years of tentatively proffered dinner, opera and tea invitations, and then later accepting work in Draco's shipping operations and having established himself as not only an able employee over the years, but an earnest manager within the last four). Since then, things had greatly improved between the three of them. As for the man's wife - neither Hermione nor her husband had ever forgiven Astoria for her part in nearly ruining their happiness. However, as part of Theo's "package," and because her children were their nieces and nephews (and Hermione firmly felt that offspring should not bear the brunt of their parents' mistakes) the white-haired witch was tolerated. Thankfully, Theo kept her under control quite ably in public to avoid any conflict, and Astoria's temper had vastly calmed with age.

The only people missing to make the picture perfect were her parents, who had moved to Australia years ago to help establish the first dental practice on the continent, and Abraxas, who had died two years this coming spring of old age. Hermione missed her parents being close-at-hand, truly, but she had just broken the fast with them earlier today when she'd Apparated over to spend all morning and most of the afternoon with them before her guests arrived for Christmas dinner. Draco's curmudgeon grandfather, though… there was a special place in her heart that remained vacant with the passing of the old codger, for she and he had formed a unique bond as he'd taken up the mantle of being her father-in-law in Lucius' absence. In the end, the former dark wizard had found his absolution, and although he had carried many regrets throughout his long lifetime, they did not weigh upon him as heavily as they once had as he'd closed his eyes for the final time. It had been a good passing.

Draco sidled up behind and wrapped an arm about her, pulling her into him. He kissed her graying brow. "Why is my lovely wife hiding out in the back like some skulking stranger? Last I checked she was still mistress of this house and it is Christmas Day." He playfully tsk'd. "Lurking in dark corners is not allowed by such a lady at such a fine hour."

Glancing over her shoulder at him, Hermione was still amazed with how beautiful her Draco was. At fifty, his hair was shorter, receding a bit at the widow's peak, but like his grandfather, he would be blessed to keep the majority of his whitening-blond mane, most likely, for the remainder of his life. There were some deep lines on his face now, too, but they were good, honest ones, put there by a combination of many years of smiles and hard work. His arms were still strong, they still cradled and comforted her, and she loved him more and more as every day passed. How blessed she'd been some thirty years ago when she'd stepped foot into _La Cerise_ to make a new destiny for herself and met this man of her dreams.

"I do _not_ skulk or lurk, husband. Nor do I prowl. Those are all _your_ favorite pastimes, if I recall correctly," she disputed in a low, teasing hiss, even as Pyg began his tale of being picked out by Draco and brought to the House as a gift to settle a dispute between The Dragon and his Princess about the existence of Puffskeins. "I _loiter._"

"Hmmm, well what say we 'loiter' on upstairs to our bedroom soon," he nuzzled her neck, brushing aside the collar of her fancy dress to get at the skin underneath. Even after all these years, and the birth of their son (there had been severe complications with Scorpius' coming into the world, and as a result, she hadn't been able to conceive after him, much to both her and Draco's disappointment), and the toll of creeping age, he _still _found her desirable. He made her feel beautiful every time he so much as glanced at her.

His lips sealed themselves over her ear. "I've been dying all day to push this dress up over your hips and see what's hidden underneath." The length of his hardened erection evocatively ground against her backside. "Did you change into the Italian corset, garter and stockings I bought you?" he naughtily whispered, covertly molding their bodies together.

When she'd opened his present this morning, in their ritual private exchange of gifts, she'd been both amused and shocked to find he'd outdone himself again when it came to gift-giving. The lingerie set he'd procured for her had been sewn together with twenty-four karat gold thread, and was a _very_ wicked three-piece, if she'd ever seen one. It was even more risqué than what he'd bought her for their first wedding anniversary – and that lacy bit had come from France! Of course, she'd immediately changed into the set as soon as the opportunity had presented itself. "If you wish to find out the truth of that matter," she mischievously rubbed her hind against his covered cock, "I am afraid you will have to wait until our guests are either settled for the night or have left for their homes."

He growled low against her throat. "Tease."

She grinned at him over her shoulder. "You married me knowing that much, so what does that say about you, beloved?"

He mock sighed as if the world were ending. "That I, my lovely, am an unrepentant glutton for punishment."

She patted his cheek fondly. "Patience, My Dragon. All good things come to those who wait."

They settled against each other to listen to Pyg's story…

"Ironically, the secret to my final transformation was at _La Cerise_ all along, in the foundational walls of the House. The spell cast centuries ago by the original owner of the establishment, Lycinus Black, had been meant solely for his heirs, but ancient magic has never been completely stable, and so it affected every person who frequented the House. That which changed me for the sake of my parents' romance, also prepared others, too, like Miss Ginevra and Mister Blaise, and the _Madame_," he looked over at Aurora and smiled at her, "for her husband, Mister Severus. And others…" He looked over his shoulder at Theo and Astoria.

Pyg was socially polite to his Aunt and Uncle, but he had never wavered in his dislike and mistrust of them after that day he'd witnessed Hermione's heartbrokenness by their scheme. He was very careful not to show it in public, like just then, but deep down, Hermione could feel his disapproval for their presence in his family's home.

He turned back to his main audience. "I'd thought about that fact as I finally gave up my search and came home to _La Cerise_ to die. By then, I was physically hurting, feeling in my weakening heart that my end drew near, for I had outlived my intended lifespan by several years. I tell you truly: I was quite embittered that I could not make my wish of becoming human come true up to that point. I recall Apparating into the basement of the House, kneeling down in the middle of the room where my mother had worked to clear it so long before and reading the spells engraved upon the walls again, I looked for guidance. Finding none, in a last, desperate act, I clasped my hands together, and used the remainder of my strength to beg the universe for a miracle, cutting my hand and rubbing my blood into the foundation, promising that I would take over the charge of caretaking the House, if it needed. In exchange, like the Sculptor Pygmalion in Ovid's story, I prayed for my wish to be granted, too. I thought of my Ciara again, and how much I longed to tell her that I loved her just once before I passed on." He turned to her, gripped her hand across the sofa's arm and held tight. They shared that secret smile of lovers who knew each other's hearts. "As I closed my eyes, I felt a wave of magic pour over me – golden glowing, sparking across my very soul. It was beautiful and painful at the same time. I fell unconscious. Five years later, I awoke in the same spot, completely untouched, having completed my metamorphosis, like a butterfly emerging from its chrysalis stage. I knew with having to look upon myself that I'd been changed permanently, as I could feel the shift in my magical aura. Like an Animagus changing between forms, I still had my magic, my heart was the same, but now I was definitively human."

Aurora interrupted at that point, to interject something important to the young ones. "Understand, little ones, many of us had gone down to the basement often in that time, but never did we see our darling Pyg there. We all thought him still off on his journey."

"It was the magic of the House," he explained. "It hid and protected me even while it changed me, knowing that I had to age at the same rate as my future wife, so we could have the full life together that the House's spell promised – and so that I could fulfill my end of the bargain with it to assure its continuance." He cleared his throat and recited from memory what, to Ciara, sounded like an old poem or blessing:

_"I sing for you the first spell, which is most useful._  
_May you never go where calamity awaits you; may no harm obstruct your desires;_  
_that you throw off all which you deem to be evil; be your own master._  
_May you carry hence, my son,_  
_for abundant fortune you will have throughout life._  
_This, your rich mansion shall forever be known to men._

_I sing to you the second spell._  
_A sunny maiden was destined to be your wife._  
_Need summoning need._  
_Once the eye has beheld a delightful spectacle, it ever yearns to return._  
_Maiden then willingly becomes your beloved._  
_Marriage then becomes your purpose._  
_Children then become your fate._

_I sing to you the third spell._  
_Your wish has come true - she greets you with a kiss;_  
_Such a beautiful sight is a source of delight - one in love with another._  
_No longer need you wait for the fulfillment of your desire for her,_  
_nor you for her love._  
_Now it is certain that you two shall be together for the rest of your lives."_

"And when you woke up, you raced to Auntie Ci's side to marry her," Azaria excitedly proclaimed. For a child of six, she was rather sharp.

Pyg nodded. "That I did," he agreed, glancing at his wife again. They took a moment, and then he turned back to the attentive, little faces. "And so, the moral of the story is-?" he prompted them.

"True love conquerors all!" Azaria proclaimed with stars in her eyes.

Alexander reached across the space and gave her leg a pinch, causing her to yelp in surprise. "No, it's that magic and faith are inter-… inter-… _combined!_"

Ladon, who was sitting on his da's lap and was closest to Alex, kicked his cousin for hurting his sister (it didn't matter that she was a year older, and quite a bit taller than he). "Don't pick on girls!" he protested.

Azaria shoved her little brother's shoulder and he fell back into their father's arms. "I can fight my own battles, Laddie!"

Seeing how things were quickly devolving now that it was getting later and the children tired and cranky, Pyg stood up. "Yes, well, you're both right. And may none of you ever forget it."

Alex flicked Azaria's temple to get even for her shoving him.

"And that," Pyg signaled by standing up, "is our cue that Christmas is officially over for the lot of you. Say goodnight and goodbye to everyone, Alex, and then it's off to bed with you."

Hermione stepped out of Draco's arms to fulfill her duties as hostess. "Would any of you care to stay? We have plenty of guest rooms available if you're too tired to Floo or Apparate home." It was the polite offer to make. Immediately, all of the cousins were begging their individual parent groups for permission to spend the night at the Manor House. "Leave them here, if you wish," she offered to the young couples. "It _is_ Christmas, after all, and even parents deserve a treat." The implication was clear: alone time for the adults wasn't something any sane person should pass up.

Lily, Andrus, Abigail, Louis, Scorpius, Evvie, Pyg and Ciara all agreed, and a rousing cheer went up from their offspring, who began running about the place like wild monsters, their flagging energy renewed.

Draco saw their guests off to the floo after they hugged goodnight and wished a Happy Christmas to each other, and Hermione quickly gathered up the little scallions and headed them off to the East Wing of the Manor House – with instructions to Mippy, their House-elf to assure that the children behaved, changed, and went to bed immediately.

Almost an hour later, her husband entered their bedroom, locking the door behind. "Alone at last," he let out a deep sigh and chuckled. He came up behind her as she sat in her chair before her vanity mirror, working on removing the pins from her long hair, letting it down with a contented sigh. Play-slapping her hands away, he finished up the work of releasing the long, flowing curls from their tightly-held chignon, running his fingers through it and massaging her scalp. "I have always loved your hair, my Princess. Never, _ever_ cut it."

She smiled at his reflection in the mirror. "Then, I shan't," she easily agreed. "So long as you never stop touching it like this."

He helped with her necklace clasp, and when she was jewelry-free, he moved her to her feet and began unbuttoning the dress, watching her in the mirror. "Do you remember our first night together, when I took down the buttons of that beautiful, white gown you wore?" he murmured with seductive heat against her earlobe.

Hermione nodded. "Every minute of that night has everlastingly etched itself into my memory, my Dragon. It was the happiest day of my life."

Draco nuzzled her, and sighed in contentment. "Mine, too, my lovely. Every day since has been a blessing, but that night you became mine in all ways. The spell brought us to each other, and fulfilled its promise that afternoon at the auction - just as it did for our Pyg and our Scorpius, and just as it will for Alexander, Azaria, Ladon and the others someday as well."

That comment brought up something that had lain dormant in Hermione's mind for so many years; now seemed as good a time as any to bring the issue up. "Draco, can you answer something for me?" He distractedly nodded, even as he continued unfastening the line of buttons on her dress. "It's just that, I've never understood what that old coot, Lycinus, did to be forced to build _La Cerise_ to begin with, and why, if he was of the family _Black_, your family's last name is _Malfoy_, even though he'd your direct ancestor?"

Draco paused and leaving her dress hanging open on her shoulders, he wrapped his arms about her waist. "Pyg and I did the research soon after he came back into our lives. What we discovered cast a… poor light… on our family's history, which is why we both agreed not to discuss it in public." He shook his head with discomfited shyness. "Lycinus had been a bad man in life, dabbling in Dark Arts and engaging in questionable business. He'd wronged someone high up within the Wizard's Council and for his transgressions, he was severely punished: hexed by will of the Council not to procreate. It was a social death sentence for the man back then, as no wife would want a man unable to give her children. Shamed and publicly humiliated, the Black family disowned Lycinus, too. They cut off his inheritance, threw him out of their familial home, eradicated his branch on the family tree, and branded him with the name, 'Le Mal Foi' meaning, 'The Bad Faith.' In a snub meant to spit in their eye for their rejection of him, Lycinus officially adopted the alias as his own, changing the spelling slightly. He became the first, true Malfoy." Twirling one of her curls about a finger, he did not look at her again as he told her the whole truth of his family's sordid history.

"As Lycinus neared old age and still remained without an heir, he panicked. He'd spent the remainder of his life after being cursed looking for a way to break the sentence placed upon him by the Council. Penniless, he figured out how to swindling greedy witches and wizards out of money by taking fake curse-breaking exploration trips across the globe. He'd go, but not for the purpose he'd told them – he was looking for ancient magic to aid him, realizing that nothing in modern practice could undo the hex. One day, he chanced across a book written by some Muggle Arab named Ibn Fadlan about traveling with a group of Muggle Norsemen. By delving deeper, my ancestor discovered information on ancient practices that these Vikings engaged in to deliver them from wicked spirits and curses. It took him years of translation work, but he finally developed the spell that he eventually carved into the foundation of _La Cerise_. He built the House using more swindled funds, and then evoked the spell using the ancient rituals, and… _voila!_ At the age of fifty-eight, he took a wife – one of the first to come to _La Cerise_, called there by the spell - and within three years, they had three sons."

Hermione was confused. "But who did Lycinus make such a magical contract with? Who has the kind of power it takes to keep a curse such as the Council cast from being fulfilled once it's been sealed? Not a mere wizard or witch, surely? Not even the great Merlin could have accomplished such a task!"

Draco smirked. "Who else but the three goddesses of Destiny? If you look at the rune translation work you copied down, you'll see it in the runes themselves. Pyg caught it when we went back over them and looked carefully. Lycinus couched his spell as one devoted to Balder, the Norse god of light and happiness, and Freya, the goddess of love, the hearth and home, but the greatest devotion is given over to the three Norns: Urd, who represented 'fate', Verdandi, who represented 'necessity,' and Skuld, who represented 'being.' They empowered the spell and allowed him to cheat his fate as the Council had deemed for him years before."

Unable to help herself, Hermione scoffed. "There are no such beings, Draco. They're superstitious myth, nothing more."

He grinned slowly at her in the mirror. "You thought the same of Puffskeins once, if I recall correctly."

The reminder made her wince. That had been the most mortifying error of her life.

Was it possible that such beings could exist? she wondered. Perhaps they were just very powerful witches, who had the ability to answer his spell's wish? Her mind turned the idea over and over, and it wasn't until she was standing before the mirror in nothing but the Italian lingerie set her husband had gifted her that she realized he was taking advantage of her distraction to seduce her.

To her surprise, however, he'd stopped, his eyes fixated upon the little adornment she had magically sewn into the top band of her slip-panties. He reached over and fingered the green ribbon that had been the symbol of their courtship all those years ago. "You remembered," he grinned, his face instantly transported to the young man he'd been thirty years prior.

Hermione gave him a smug smirk, and raised an eyebrow at her husband. "I never forget," she reminded him, just as she had that night of their final interview, when she'd worn it in the same location.

Their eyes met in the mirror – silver locked with bronze – and he renewed the vow he'd made to her that reckless night in the rose garden: "_Je t'aime, ma Princesse. Pour tout l'éternité, je vous aimerai._"

Hermione's tears waver before her eyes and she leaned back into his strong embrace once more. "Forever and ever? In this lifetime and the next?"

Draco nodded. "It will be my manifest pleasure, my lovely. I would paramount enjoy the opportunity."

She turned in his arms and reached up on tiptoe to kiss his mouth, letting her fingers slide through his soft, platinum hair. "Sounds like fun. I think I will keep you, _Monsieur_ Dragon."

He backed her towards their bed, ravishing her mouth with each step. "Please _do_, my Princess," he chuckled as he dropped them down to lie upon the soft mattress to make gentle love to her again. "Definitely do."

Electrifying sparks danced continuously between them as their bodies met, much as it had thirty years before, reminding them both of the unending miracles that their magic made possible.

**~FIN~**

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_**AUTHOR'S FINAL NOTES:**_

Remember to check out the images that I've chosen to go along with this fic on my Photobucket site here (remove all spaces from the URL for it to load properly): _**http:/ / s905 . photobucket . com / albums / ac260 / RZZMG / La%20Cerise-The%20Sweetest%20Cherry**_

This story has finally reached its conclusion – there will be no sequel. I hope you have enjoyed this trek into Regency Era-early Victorian Era England with our HP friends. I apologize for not being able to fulfill one requirement by Lady Serpentina (the noncon Dramione scene), but I just didn't think I could pull it off in this story, given its direction. I hope you don't disapprove.

**Please review, if you feel inclined! I'd love to hear your final thoughts on the story!**

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_**CHAPTER END NOTES:**_

**During the Regency/Victorian eras, a 'gravy' was a spicy sauce (crème or au jus, either one) that was glazed over the tops of dishes, usually meats. The term has since morphed into a more benign/buttery flavored crème sauce. **

**The name 'Ciara' is Irish for Dark or Black (named for her hair color).**

**Incroyable = French for "incredible."**

**During the 1830's, women's fashion was all about breadth – wide hips and sleeves on dresses, lacy collars and bust lines that did nothing to emphasize a woman's natural curves. Frankly, the garb is quite hideous for women, IMHO. Just ten years later, it improves greatly, but unfortunately, the time period of Ciara's debut coincides with the decade of ugly dresses. For that reason, I have taken GREAT (unapologetic) liberties with the fashionable dresses I've assigned our girls in Epilogue #3. Since we are all aware that fashion in the wizarding world is quite different from the Muggle world (the two share similarities in the past that lessen as one gets closer to modern day, the gap between them widening, so that the wizarding world by Harry's time in the late 20th century seems to enjoy a fashion that combines elements of Victorian, Regency and Renaissance time periods), it shouldn't be that far of a stretch for you to believe that by 1835, the wizarding world is once more slowing and going backwards in adopting new fashions, rather than going forwards (as the Muggle world does). At least, I hope that explains away my fashion inaccuracies for this chapter… Oh, bother! Just go with it, people!**

**Ma Soeur = French for "my sister."**

**Bast = A beloved ancient Egyptian goddess whose head is that of a cat, and whose body is that of a female human.**

**Fleur de Lis = French for "Lily Flower." **

**Le Chat Parisien = French for "The Parisian Cat." **

**Oui, mon noir = French for "Yes, my black one" (in reference to Ciara's hair and name).**

**Haut Ton = The high society (the elite). Synonymous with the term 'beau monde' (referenced in chapter 3).**

**Bleu, rouge, et blanc = French for "blue, red and white" (referencing chapters 5 and 14).**

**L'amour = French for "(the) Love."**

**Remember when Lily Potter evoked some mysterious ancient/old magic to cast the protection spell upon Harry in the novels? Well, JKR never tells you how Lily actually managed to accomplish that spell (she just said it was cast and voila! - the reading audience believes it). We only know that the spell took the sacrifice of Lily's life (blood and flesh both) to accomplish the goal of casting a life-long protection about her child, and that the magic in question was an evocation of love. It is this same, nebulous magic that I use for this fic to explain the spell on La Cerise.**

**Wizard's Council = The predecessor to the modern day Wizengamot, according to JKR-canon.**

**In Norse mythology, the Norns are the demi-goddesses of destiny. They control the destinies of both gods and men, as well as the unchanging laws of the cosmos. They are represented as three sisters: Urd ("fate"), Verdandi ("necessity") and Skuld ("being"). They live at the base of the World Tree Yggdrasil in the realm of Asgard. **

**The Elder Furthak runes Ansuz, Thurisaz, and Wunjo (all on the North Wall of the House in this story – see the image here: s905 . photobucket . com / albums / ac260 / RZZMG / La%20Cerise-The%20Sweetest%20Cherry / ?action=view¤t=) are runes attributed in secret prayers given to the Norns. That was a little foreshadowing for you, history/mythology buffs out there. ^_~**

**Ibn Fadlan = (full name: Ahmad ibn Fadlān ibn al-Abbās ibn Rašīd ibn Hammād); a 10th century Arab traveler, he is famous for his account of his travels as a member of an embassy of the ArabAbbasidCaliph of Baghdad to the king of the Volga Bulgars. His story is referenced by author Michael Crichton in his story, "The Eaters of the Dead" (adapted to film as "The 13th Warrior").**


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